Hope- A short story.
This here is a short story that's part of a series of stories that I'm writing concerning different human emotions.
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He was sitting on his corner stool in between the 11th and 12th rounds when the thought first crept into his mind. 1 more round and I'm going to be fighting for the heavyweight championship!! 1 more round!! he thought. He could see it clear as day. All the hardwork he put in, all the years of fighting on the undercard, and now he was finally going to get his shot at the title. "Remember to keep him away with the jab and go for the kill when he ducks in for the uppercut. Don't get tagged with the uppercut, Joey. You're doing great. One more fu(king round and you've got this. Don't get careless, Joey!! Don't get careless!!" His trainer was screaming instructions at him 4 inches from his face, the crowd was chanting his name at the top of their lungs, but he didn't hear them for one second. No sir, for he didn't hear nor see a single thing in the world other than the heavyweight belt around his waist. His corner men worked feverishly on his face and shoulders as the countdown to the 12th round dwindled. He stood up from his stool, looked into the crowd, kissed his glove, and then pointed to his wife who was standing in the first row. DING, DING, DING, DING. "Let's get it on" the referee yelled imperatively. He looked across the ring at his opponent and saw a dejected fighter. He saw an opponent whos left eye was swollen shut and he saw an opponent who was operating on empty gas. If there's one thing to be said about Joey Santilli, it's that he can smell blood. At that very moment, he could smell blood and he was out for the kill like a tiger on the prowl.
It was the beginning of the 12th round and Joey Santilli was up 8 rounds to 3 on Henry Chavez. Nearly everyone in the arena that night had it in their mind that the fight was over. That's nearly everyone of course but Henry Chavez. The round started off like the last three with Joey furiously attacking his opponents swollen left eye. One left jab, two left jabs, and then a right cross to Chavez's left eye and the crowd roared for blood. Blood, sweat, and vaseline gushed out of Henry's battered face as the thunderous punch landed square on his eye. Absorbing the enormous impact of the punch, he stagged back in a daze. "Joey, Joey, Joey", the crowd chanted. "Watch out for the uppercut, Joey, watch out for the uppercut" his trainer implored. But he wasn't watching out for anything but the heavyweight title around his waist. For the brief moment of a blink of an eye, Henry Chavez dropped his left hand exposing the left side of his face to a possible knock-out blow. In boxing, like life, every second counts. Every step taken is crucial and one minute mistake can spell the death of one career and the birth of another. For Joey Santilli, he saw his chance. In the interval of a tenth of a second, he saw his dreams, experiences, and future flash right in front of him in the form of Henry Chavez's exposed left jaw. "Watch out for the uppercut, Joey!! Watch out for the uppercut!!" His trainers words of caution slowly faded from his mind as he cocked back his left hand. With all his might, he swung his left hook forward. Let's freeze it right there for a second. Let's both talk about life and this thing called destiny. Are we really in control of our own futures, or are the things that happen to us merely the product of some pre-conceived plan for us? Our failures, could we have avoided them, or are we simply just passengers in the road of life, driven to our various experiences by an unknown force? It was the last round of a fight he was clearly winning and he never saw the punch comming. The last thing that Joey Santilli saw before hitting the ground was a torn image of the heavyweight championship belt. "Watch out for his uppercut, it's his most lethal punch. He'll throw it when he's desperate and behind in a fight." He must have heard that a million times prior to the fight. For 12 rounds, he had sidestepped every one of Henry Chavez's uppercuts, but this one, he couldn't have done a thing about. The uppercut smashed into his lower jaw and violenty thrust his head backwards. Immediately upon absorbing the punch, he was knocked out cold. It was not untill the count of 6 that he woke up. "6!!," the referee yelled over him. He was wobbly and woozy but somewhere in the distant regions of his now foggy mind, he could see them. He could see the moments that represented his past and had shaped him into the man that he was. "7!!" He could see the day that his dad gave him his first pair of boxing gloves. He was seven at the time and when his dad passed away, he placed those very gloves in his coffin. He had cried his eyes out at his fathers funeral and had promised him that he would one day become the heavyweight champion of the world. "8!!" He could see the first match that he ever lost. He could see how much he dedicated himself to becoming a better fighter and a better man after that. "9!!". Slowly, his worn out hands reached for the ropes; his muscles and mind deteriorated passed their limit but his heart and will pulsated with fervor. His hamstrings, knees, and ankles were inert, but still he pushed. He fought with everything that he had in him to lift his legs up. He everted every single fiber in his body. His teeth clenched, mind churned, and his dreams and hopes of the title were slipping away. He never made it up before the count of 10. One punch, one tiny mistake, and it was all over. Tears rushed down his wife's face as the referee waved his hands signaling the end of the fight. For the span of 11 rounds, he looked like the next heavyweight champion. He had looked like the Joey Santilli that experts and fans alike knew that he could be. He retired at the age of 33, never getting the shot at the heavyweight championship that he so coveted. His dreams were never fufilled, but for 11 rounds he had fufilled the dreams of everyone that ever believed in him.
Last edited by Wu Infinite; 03-17-2006 at 12:41 PM.
02-15-2006, 04:11 PM
