His eyes blazed. He was calm, but I could tell that something was different. He wasn't as tactical as usual. Every time he came in to punch, he seemed less organized than what I have seen from him before . . . more . . . frantic.
"He's angry." I thought. "Let him be angry then. I don't mind if he takes it out on me. I'm angry too, so I'll just take it out on him."
So we slowly circled each other, my eyes never leaving his, and his never leaving mine. Sweat dripped from my neck as I slid forward and delivered a punch to his ribs, which he easily blocked. I knew better than to leave it at that, so I quickly followed with a kick to his stomach and another punch, this time to his shoulder. He blocked the kick and turned away, avoiding full contact with my fist in his shoulder.
We continued like this . . . punch, block . . . kick, block . . .Would it ever end? My mind . . . my angry mind, loved every minute I had in which to hit a real person; to pretend, even for a moment, that it was all his fault. But every other part of my body screamed otherwise. We were both tiring, I could tell, but neither would give up so soon. Not when we had the opportunity to get our anger out on something real. The moment was just too good to give up. So we kept at it, neither making much progress in the area of successful hits, but both making tremendous progress none the less. I could see in his eyes, fading furry; I felt in my mind, fading vengeance.
The kicks, punches, and blocks that had been thrown so quickly were now coming slower. The need to fight someone was now growing weaker. Hot and breathing heavily, we both slid away from each other in a non-verbal, momentary truce. Though we remained in fighting stance, alert for the other to break the truce, I knew that anger was dying.
Before we could resume our fight, from behind me someone called, "Matte! Bow to your partner and shake hands." We did as instructed, and I could feel a sense of relief from both of us. There was no longer a need to fight. As we shook hands, he said something to me, but his mouth guard distorted it. I like to think he said thank you, because those were the very words I would have said.
A/N
Again, true story. Just to clarify though, 'matte' (pronounced 'ma-tay') is the Japanese word for 'stop'.
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RandomNot out of boredom. It's the little things that interest me and spark my imagination.
