Week Two of Micro Bookends, and my final submission (sadly).
Face battered and numb. His bloodied hands almost fractured; skin rips as it’s shed from glove.
He has seen this moment. He has seen every moment. He’s like a writer at keyboard, perfect plot in mind.
He has smelled dankness of old sweat. He has touched the powdery talc, the burning friction of ropes and the flex of canvas underfoot. He has heard the beat of his heart, the bloodthirsty cries of spectators and the sounds of pummelling fists – the echoes of pain itself.
He smiles. He’ll change the plot of the story and change society with it. Clay will become Ali. His hands clasp triumphantly on the belt. Lift.
I was very thankful for my Highly Commended nod from the judge.