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Boxing

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I watched the screen as they danced in the flickering light. Their feet bounce from the floor to the night sky- practically weightless. Each competitor glimmered of sweat beads on the ridge of their brow as they concentrated on the wordless motions of offense. Their blood red gloves tapping a punch- there was no built up hits, or unrestrained power; they played in a tricky order, a silent event of death. They danced back and forth buzzing around like high strung bees containing their anger. There were no humans on that court- only two animals. The only thing to decide in this combat was who became the predator, and who became the prey. Instincts flowed through the veins of the boxer and a fierce, wild eyed panther took shape inside the man, for nothing mattered more than taking the opponent down.


I watched the whole thing in fascinated wonder. How could it be that we are still so animal- through all we’ve done and accomplished? Such a primitive sport, but I had never known that it could be so beautiful. The flash of bright silk clothing, and darkness enveloping all around them- all that’s left is you and you panting opponent. I suppose in a way, there are some things in this world that can never leave you, no matter how hard you fight it; and animal instincts will never die within us.





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