"On the Hunt" by Ryan H

     “He’s nothing,” I muttered to myself. “He’s my prey. He. Is. Nothing.” Finally, the match in front of us ended, and we both walk on to the mat, ready to battle. His cold, intense gaze told me this was not going to be easy, that it was going to be more than a battle, a full-blown war. The ref assigned me as red, and my opponent Green. The referee made us shake hands, blew his whistle, and we began.

All my focus was on my opponent, analyzing his style, looking for an opening to make my attack. Suddenly, he grabbed for my head. I reflexively ducked, and circled to the side, waiting for the shot on my legs. It never came, and instead he backed off, waiting to make his own attack. We continued to circle, grabbing, feinting, waiting for the other to make a mistake to capitalize on. Suddenly, my coach’s voice rang out, “THIRTY SECONDS! DO SOMETHING!” he bellowed. I smacked the opponent in the head to make him flinch, and shot straight in, grabbing both legs. However, nothing came from it, he was good. More than good, phenomenal. I drove and drove, trying to take him down, but to no avail. Then, in the final ten seconds of the first round, he snapped me face first into the mat and got behind, getting two points and the lead to head into the second round.

To start the second period, the ref flipped a coin, one side red, the other green, for decision of position in the second round. Green won, and differed his choice, giving it to me. I chose to go bottom, knowing his best moves from that position and how to avoid them. The ref blew his whistle once more, and we began anew. I instantly stood up, but he saw that coming, and slammed me straight back to the floor. Building my way back up, I sat out to the side, but he followed me around, giving no ground. I tried to stand up once more, and then I realized my mistake. I left my head too close to my knee, and he realized it too. Instantly, he snatched it up, cross-faced me extremely hard, and put me into a cradle, straight on my back. I kicked and kicked, peeling his hand apart, but there was no breaking that hold, the hold that sealed my fate. The whistle blew once more, and I knew it was over. I had been pinned.

I shook his hand once more, and then his coach’s. I walked off the mat furious at myself, and went outside to cry, broken over the defeat. That’s when I decided this loss doesn’t matter, and pulled myself together. I would face him again somewhere soon, undoubtedly, and get my revenge.  “What is one loss? This kid better be scared, because next time, I will be on the hunt. And I will not rest until I see my spoils won.”