The tennis match
Silence fills the arena that surrounds the two of us. It’s gladiatorial.
I hold the ball in my hand, it tremors imperceptibly as I throw it upwards, soaring towards the sky.
It flies wide. The groan from the crowd greets the ball’s wayward flight.
I have one more chance to save the game, the match. I repeat the throw and, as my arm swings heavily downwards, the racket sends the ball hurtling towards my opponent. The spectators gasp as it flies towards me, no time to think, I’ve pitched it back, it falls, unreachable, at his feet.
I can’t hear the sound it makes, the cries are so loud. They really want me to win, they push me to another level, one I thought I could never reach.
I serve again. This is a real chance.
Back, forth, across, gasp, grunt, back, across
A second of silence precedes the explosion. The crowd screams, I scream.
I’ve done it. The champion, the youngest ever.
Amidst the rapturous applause I hear a familiar voice.
“Timothy, get yourself inside, it’s time for tea!”
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