EndGame

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Flash Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
An aging fighter faces his last bout in the ring.

Submitted: March 12, 2007

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Submitted: March 12, 2007

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My trainer says I'm the best fighter he's ever seen. Sometimes, I think he just says that because I'm small in size, getting older. He's trying to boost my confidence.

  But I always tell him; don't count me out yet, boss. Dynamite can come in small packages. He just smiles when I say that, pats me on the back, then fixes me a bowl of my favorite cereal and a glass of orange juice.

 He told me that I'd need all of the energy I could muster for tonight's fight; said my opponent is one big, ugly, meanass sonofabitch. I just gave him that look that says, Don't worry about it, boss, no problem, I'm a tough old fucker myself.

8o'clock finally rolled around, and I was ready to rock-n-roll. I sat across the ring from my opponent, sizing him up. He was a big one, alright; big, black, hairy and scary, with piercing dark eyes.

But, I couldn't back down now. it would disappoint my bossman, break his heart. Besides, I'm a tough old fucker myself, and even if I get my ass kicked, my pride would be hurt, but I'd still be alive, have my bossman for a friend.

The bell rang - KLANG!! - and I jumped into the ring the other fighter trying to stare me down with those creepy eyes. I dove in fast, aiming for his midsection, but only landed a glancing blow. That was a mistake.

He grabbed me by the upper torso, sinking his teeth into my throat, jerking his head back and forth, ripping my flesh open. I fell limp in his grasp, falling to the mat, defeated.

  As I was lying there bleeding, I heard my trainer's voice, sounding really upset.....scared. Sad. He knelt down beside me, tears in his eyes, as I gave him my ''I'm sorry'' look, and he nodded his head like he understood.

Then I tryed my best to wag my tail as he ran his trembling fingers through my bloody fur one last time.


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