Faith in the Four

The scent of sweat fills his nostrils
The taste of blood slides along his tongue.
The sounds of a cheering stadium assault his ears.
And the jolt of an impact rocks his torso.

He winces and gasps, before taking a deep breath, and listening past the crowd, and his own thrashing heart.
Individual noises appear, then disappear.
Names, cheers, insults, encouragements, vendors, cameras, referees, then finally footwork.
A constant pat, pat, pat sounds directly in front of him for a moment, before,

His opponent’s fist comes near, and he ducks below.
Swoosh!
With the grace of a cobra, he pops back up and delivers a strike in the general direction of the one he dodged.
It works.

He feels the shock go up his arm as the swing strikes true.
With a tiger’s fer4ocity, he assaults the other man.
A blitzkrieg of hits never gives his opponent a chance to recover.
Blood pumps through is veins at an ungodly rate, and his heartbeat becomes as ignored as the sweat on his face.

Hands on his back and chest pull him away.
After a moment, he stops swinging.
A voice rings out, “He’s down!”
The referee’s count is quickly muffled.

He struggles to keep h is feet as he’s dragged about the ring, first to a corner,
Then the other,
Then the ringside,
Finally, the center.

“And the winner, by knockout,”
The ref hesitates.
The crowd falls silent.
Not a whisper exists to disturb it.

The ref held up his arm.
“The Blind Thunder!”
The crowd cheers, his mouth goes dry.
His heart nearly stops in his chest.

The reporter came from nowhere.
“How did you achieve this tremendous victory?”
The man finally speaks:
“I just put my faith in the four senses.”