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  • armanmirhadi

Locker Room

It's two men waiting in separate rooms, both scared right out of their damn minds.

About to go out there and show ‘em all. To live or to die.

The bright lights form on the firm canvas. The arena is warm and loud. Drunken screams, adrenaline, and emotions echo through the long corridors, past the corners and endless paths until the closed doors and into the locker rooms of the two men that are about to step out in front of forty-five thousand people and hundreds of thousands more watching live from around the world. All cameras on them, every roll of sweat on their faces focused clean and zoomed up.

“It’s time Jack.” Some woman in her mid-30s would say.

It was like a bear poking his face in a beehive. Everybody jumped up. Jack started strutting towards the door, throwing his fist through the air, shadowboxing his way through the room. He’d go out and fight.

It was 4 hours earlier when his driver rolled up to the arena. Blue sky and big sun, slowly cooling down from a hot day. Jack got out of the car and stared up at the massive height of the arena in front of him. He could already feel the energy of thousands of people, waiting for him to step into a well-lid square in front of them and fight another man for honor, pride, and millions of dollars.

His girl, Nicole was with him. And she was all pretty. Nice dress and high heels. Her hair was shiny and her eyes seductive. He was amazed at how she could transform into a red-carpet beauty after nothing but a few hours of hard work in front of the mirror.

Todd his head coach was there also. They trained together for over 15 years, but it was during that 7 weeks of training camp that they truly became family.

“One more Jack! One more!”, Todd yelled at him, throwing the pads against his punches in the gym.

“One - Two - Duck under - Hook the body - Hook to the face - Roll!” Jack would throw his fists through the air like perfectly aimed arrows in a beautiful combination. Smooth and agile. Like a wild animal in the savanna. Jack was where he belonged. His hair was bathed wet from the sweat, while he was inhaling humid-hot air in his lungs. The thudding sound of his gloves connecting with the pads put him in a trance-like state.

He was the lion in the grass, one step at a time, sneaking up on his victim. The time to kill would come soon enough.

“One more Jack! Just one more!”, there he would duck under again. There he would land punches again. There he would be ready for war.



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