Quarterfinals About a boy in a fencing tournament.

It was getting difficult to see while walking down the dark, foul smelling corridor. I could distinguish where the hallway ended because of the luminosity trickling through the tunnels end. Even though a blast of adrenaline hit me, I still couldn?t pick up my feet. I had to drag them. Beneath my left foot was my vomit from the day before -still there- nobody had cleaned it. I tried to wipe my foot on the wall, but I could barely lift it, and wiped it on the floor instead. The light was getting closer now, and I could hear the crowd?s cheers. Walking, or rather sliding into the light let my eyes adjust. As I strode

On top of the dais, raised for the match, I stood and listened. The throngs of people shouted and cheered all sorts of things. None were cheering for me. Damn. Charlie, my opponent, had a number of girls holding up a large rectangular sign reading ?Butcher C!? in enormous crimson letters; all designed to look like blood.

Charlie Annonsbild

Fencing uniform jacket. (Women's)

Fencing plastron (underarm protector)

Butcher was an epithet he had achieved since his father was a butcher and at one point or another he had ?butchered? three consecutive opponents with flawless victories. I had never even had a single flawless victory before. I stepped up into the arena for my carving and peered into the crowd. My parents weren?t even there. ?We?ll be right back, we left something in the car.? Was all I could remember them saying before my match. They already left. Today was my biggest match ever, too. Some kid from Virginia against Charlie Berrosa and my parents weren?t even there to watch me lose. The only person cheering for me was close friends in the stands and some guy to my left crying out ?Go...