The Sledgehammer was sweating and it was slippery on his shoulders—I thought I would slide off, but then he ducked his head and heaved me onto the canvas. I fell hard, and the impact traveled up my spine and exploded in my head, and for one delicious second, everything went black. But then it all came back—the crowd noise, the thundering music, and the lights flashing above. The Hippo was in the corner of the ring, leaning back with his arms spread on the ropes like he was relaxing in a hot tub. His belly pushed out against his grey suit, and the upper half of his face was covered by a mask meant to resemble a Hippo, though it reminded me more of a teddy bear, with round little ears on top. The Hippo charged Darius, but Darius maneuvered out of his path, grabbed his arm, and whipped him into the ropes and clotheslined him, smacking him down to the floor in one quick drop. Then it was my turn. I pulled myself up and ran at Darius. He grabbed my arm and swung me around in a full circle, ...
reflections and whimsies on literary fiction