Payouts and Knockouts
The Allure and the Angst of Mixed Martial Arts
Robert slumps against the cage wall of the octagon, the blood streaming from his nose spatters onto the pristine, off-white floor emblazoned with the FCFF logo across the center. His left leg stretches out to one side, dead and useless. It buckled under him after one too many leg kicks from his opponent Bryce, each one landing with the slightly nauseating smacking sound you might get beating an as-yet uncooked thanksgiving turkey with a rolling pin. Seeing his man start to go down, Bryce––funny to be talking about them on a first-name basis, like friendly office colleagues with registered weapons at the ends of their arms and legs––launches forwards and connects a flying knee to Robert’s head. The destruction is complete. The referee puts his body between them and waves the attack off, a win by total knockout.
The Raven
The raven materialized out of nothing. The denim blue skies, empty save for a few wispy clouds produced this shadowy, feathered apparition as suddenly as a magician pulls a rabbit from his hat. He glided in on a gust of chilly wind, landing noiselessly on the snow-encrusted summit of our now shared mountaintop. Just a few yards apart, we regarded each other I think with mutual curiosity. He was quite beautiful. Wrapped in an unblemished uniform of the darkest black, it shone occasionally when reflecting the light of the sun. Shifting left and right he watched me, the irises of his eyes so dark they merged seamlessly with the pupils to form deep, inky pools. He uttered a soft, deep croak, causing his long neck feathers to ruffle out delicately, urging me to share my well-earned sandwich. Other than my own breathing, it was the only sound to penetrate the silence in our isolated retreat.
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