Twelve Month Challenge: Rumble, Young Man, Rumble

Each step taken with the next four in mind. Left? Right? Step back.

Don’t give up now, feet. We here to dance.

His young opponent, much older and experienced, propels himself forward with the force of a locomotive. He has the strength and will of a titan yet our hero possesses the spirit of a god.

Still, he dances.

The beads of sweat grow and multiply, forming streams of exhaustion and will.

That’s it, feet, keep on dancin’.

He glides across the canvas, with each move as calculated as the last.

A jab there. Cross there.

That’s it, old man. Your hands remember.

The young surpass the old, if the old let them.

The old aren’t that forgiving, nor that kind.

He staggers his punches, especially that right hand, knowing that each has the ability to conquer mountains.

Still, our hero dances.

The only man who could dance with him, moonwalked his way through history.

He finds his back against the ropes, he’s been here before. They don’t belong against his back but he finds them more comforting than ever before.

From here, he will bring the world of his opponent down, crumbling him with every whisper and mutter in his ear.

“Is that all you got, George?” Our hero goads the young titan.

The blood in his eye, doesn’t come from a wound but from the ferocity within.

Another duck there, sway here.

Keep movin’ legs, don’t hold out on me just yet. Hands too, keep flyin’.

At this moment, the god realises his mortality. This doesn’t strike fear though, instead, he remembers this is how gods live on.

He wasn’t supposed to last this long but he rouses the crowd. They’re addicted to each blow, it sends a rush through their veins that unleashes a roar that could tame some of the fiercest animals of the jungle.

Roars all over.

2:58. Round 8. The god prevails.

“Ali, bomaye.” The crowd cheers on as their champion prevails.

Eventually, gods vanquish the titans.