Ava’s wild blue hair hung around her shoulders as she stood, centered in the park’s lawn. The gathering crowd made her nervous, but she needed to focus at the moment. She took several deep breaths, slowing her heart rate, while drawing her arms closer to her body. Focus on balance, not power, she reminded herself; remember structure, not techniques; maintain flow, not speed. Marek Roth, across from her, bounced on his toes, tensed as usual. He continued to shift his position, attempting to find an opening in her defense. He did a quick shuffle step forward, and she moved to meet his advance. Marek crouched in a fully extended, aggressive stance. It was clear he’d try to end the fight quickly.
“It’s for real this time,” he said as his entire body seemed to catch on to what his arms were doing, and moved in large, circular movements.
Ava had been hit by a few of his techniques before. If he landed his attack, it would carry the potential of a broken bone. Fear, however, held no place in her mind at the moment. She watched him carefully, as the range of his motions increased, and he continued moving toward her. She stepped forward and to the outside of one of his swings, moving to strike his exposed face. Only too late did she realize she’d misjudged his speed, as her attack was deflected by a powerful punch that nearly connected with her collarbone. She lifted her feet, allowing the hit to push her back a few feet. The arm that got hit stung as if it had been hit with a baseball bat. It would be one hell of a bruise, but she was thankful it wasn’t a more intense injury. She moved back some more, centering her stance again. This was the first time he’d hit her in a long time, and it was a clear reminder of just how dangerous his style was. The small portion of her shoulder that had been grazed by the strike was starting to feel like it was on fire. The small crowd was becoming feverish now with excitement and delight. Marek changed his stance and moved to kick her legs out from under her. Ava stepped around the sweep kick and swung her fist, striking the side of his face with the sound of a cracking whip; second point. He staggered, dazed with a bead of blood appearing from his lip. He took a moment to shake his head clear, then regained his stance. Marek advanced with a surprising speed. He turned his body at the last possible movement, launching into a sideways somersault. As his kicking foot came down, Ava grinned and sidestepped. She turned, caught his kick at the thigh, and swept his landing foot out from under him. As he was falling, she followed up with another flurry of quick punches to his back and neck; third point, fight over. As soon as he hit the ground and began to roll over, she positioned herself over his head and gave the pretend finishing blow. Marek lay there, catching his breath. His arms were trembling, and he coughed a few times. When Ava offered her hand, he accepted, and stood. “How you feeling?” she asked, her eyebrows knit, eyes focused on the red marks rising on his skin. She really hadn’t meant to hit so hard, but he did push the damage limit. “Like I’ve been stung by a few thousand hornets. You?” Ava shrugged, “Like I walked in front of a bus and got sideswiped by a model airplane.” She failed to maintain her composure, and laughed awkwardly at her joke. “Dude,” Marek sighed, “why are you so extra?” She shrugged again, moving to pick up her backpack from where it sat in the grass. She tried to bury the grunt as her shoulder stiffened from the effort of lifting the bag, which she intentionally kept heavy, as you do. It didn’t work, of course, and she almost smiled again when Marek tried to take it from her. He was starting to feel guilty, the softy. Not the first time, either, and it was kind of getting on her nerves now. “Let’s hit the Jamba Juice on Larchmont,” she said, with a gentle, but firm push against his offering hand. “I’m dying for a good mango smoothie.” Marek hefted his own backpack, “Don’t forget, Julian wanted you to call and let him know where we’re going. What does he want to talk to you about, anyway?” “Dude, he’s your brother. I don’t have a clue. Granted, he did sound kind of worried earlier.” She pulled the cell phone from its spot on her backpack and flipped through her contacts. When she got to Julian’s number, she called it and got his voice mail. She left a message, but wouldn’t know for quite a while that he would never receive it.
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AuthorLawrence Henry is an aspiring author with more caffeine than time. BTW, here's some of my thoughts on a few varied subjects. Archives
July 2023
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