Wednesday, March 31, 2010

the involuntary boxer

Boxing – 253 words
Kevin Foster

A fist flies in and jars the world sideways with a dull thud, the blue sky spun to the left and on the right hot black asphalt. He feels his cheeks burn immediately, the white lasting sting of a hand and boiling pavement. He knows that everyone sees it coming even if he doesn't and he imagines what they think as they watch, grimacing with a little of his pain on their faces, or those who avert their eyes but stand there anyway. There is now a liquid on his face; at least there is a feeling of something running on down his face and he tastes metal in his mouth – his entire face pulses, tingling, and he is unsure if there is anything on it at all, including those features he expects to see every day. He attributes the taste in his mouth to either blood or a liquified form of his braces and he is displeased either way. Inside of his chest, his heart is thumping along, dutifully unaware of everything outside of its cavernous home. When he first began involuntarily boxing, his heart would leap to attention, wanting to join the fight, and stand guard far longer than necessary, but he took his role quite seriously and had since deadened even his deepest instincts so now not one part of him reacted. He feels them all saunter off in groups into the vertical clouds, sickened or bored. He will lay and look at the sideways world a little longer.

The Boxer - Simon and Garfunkel

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