The Wrestled

I’m pinned down firmly on the mat. It smells of chalk and the sweat of other boys. The first two rounds were easy; I had danced around the thick-necked brute from Tai Hing Secondary School scoring one point after another with my fast moves. But now my opponent has learned my tricks and I’ve been defeated.

For the final round, I need to come up with something unexpected: something that will throw him off balance and send him packing.

The bell rings and I stand up scoring my first point of the round, but then the brute comes at me with full force and makes me hug the floor again. Lying here squashed, my cheek against the rubber, I realize something for the first time. No matter how much I’d grown this year, or might the next, or the year after that, he would always be one step ahead. In the end, wrestling boils down to brute force. A twig like me doesn’t stand a chance of winning. I need to pick a fight I might win.

My chosen weapon – a pen.

This flash fiction piece was first published in IMPRINT issue 13, the annual anthology of Women in Publishing Society.

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