PAUL

Posted by Slarti

Wednesday, March 23 5:12 p.m.

Paul ducked his head hard to the left, but not fast enough to evade the whole blow. Just catching a part of it was enough to stretch his jaw a few micrometers in what seemed like a lifetime. Matrix-like, the world went into slo-mo as he saw his own sweat splinter in a thousand directions. Already his left fist was three quarters en route to its mark, and a momentary sense of satisfaction swept through him as it dug up and into the softening sola plexus of his opponent. Using the body in front of him he thrust himself backwards and drew both gloved fists up in front of his exposed face. His expression went from triumph to puzzlement and then concern as the man in front of him dropped to one knee waving him off. Sammy “Samson” looked up at Paul, his eyes slightly bulging. Something wasn’t right.

“Mako!” Paul shouted, still panting from the exertion, trying desperately to be heard above the loud and unruly hubbub of gym noise. Jake Bagwell and Case Thompson were already over the ropes and bending over Samson with towels. “911, man!” Paul all but screamed, and vaulted over the ropes making a dash for the tiny office. Mako proceeded to dump the contents of his coffee mug down the front of his wife-beater when Paul charged through the door, the edge of it neatly dislodging the unsuspecting manager from his leaned-back chair. Paul almost jerked the grimy phone off the wall, his fingers punching the keys frantically, while Mako tried to make sense of what was happening. The phone started to ring and Paul looked at Mako jabbing a finger toward the gymnasium doorway. “Samson! Go!” and Mako bolted out of the office.

Paul sunk to one knee, starting to shake all over. He closed his eyes. “Dad,” he whispered. The blood pounding in his body and head was almost enough to prevent him from hearing, “911, what is your emergency?”