Smash: The Way of My Life

     The sun would dip behind every tree, every building, casting the world in everlasting shadow, and we would play on, tireless, proud, honored. We were the boys who were dedicated to speed, strength, and endurance, ignoring such unimportant things (in this game) such as time. Little elementary boys watched us with an unbelievable passion as we played; older kids watched us with a mixture of envy and awe. We were the Smashers: our sport was unprecedented; we were the only middle schoolers brave enough to even attempt it. Day would melt into night, night would melt into day as our inner tournaments would rage on, interrupted only by school. We would play on the muddy, dipping, ruined fields of our school, scars of our battles and victories bleeding into the earth.

     The game was complex and brutal. Two teams, the Jets (my unbeatable team clad in blue) and the Devils (the dirtiest, red-armored team to play this game), mortal enemies on the field, battled it out with simple sticks and tennis balls. The Smashers themselves stood ten feet from a crude path fifty feet long, tennis balls and sticks held at the ready. The Guards, usually the burly guys, stood in the path, covered in thick, hand-made armor, a collection of pans and makeshift metal. The Sweepers were the real players of this game (I being one of them). Clad only in a simple helmet, they dodged rain after rain of tennis balls battered by the Smashers, dodged blow after blow from the guards, and had to safely run to the end of the path, snatch the required object (a painted tennis ball) and race back to where they began against their opponent (of course, the Sweepers were allowed to do anything they could to win, including snatching a stick from their teammate and beating the other Sweeper with it).

     Smash was everything a guy wanted to be, for if you were the king of Smash, you were the king of the school, of every single student that came to class, willingly or unwillingly. For a long, long time, I was King o’ Smash, and there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that I would make the sport great, recognized by first the school, and then the entire world.

     But, of course, no one suspected that I would have a partner, whether I wanted one or not....

      ***

     “Get his tail! NO, HIS TAIL, YOU IDIOT!”

     CRACK!

     I dodged a blurry ball as it raced over my head and slammed into one of my team’s guards. He grunted, shook his head, and then continued blocking my opponent, Skinny Sal, quickest Royal Uni I’ll probably ever meet.

     “GO FOR HIS TAIL!”

     Everyone knew a green Lutari’s one weakness was his tail, and everyone always did their best to aim for my weak spot. I tucked my furry tail closer to my legs, faked left, and then dove right as a Devil Guard tried to grab me.

     CRACK!

     The next Guard dropped to the ground as a tennis ball whammed him in the side of his muzzle. There was a brief roar of excitement (Guards were rarely struck unconscious) then it died to be replaced by the silent whirring of balls smacked into the air.

     One foot to go, I realized joyfully as I dodged yet another attack, this time jumping nimbly over a low slide tackle. I glanced back briefly to notice that Sal was on the ground, mud plastered to his once sparkling mane. I crowed my victory to the sky and raced on. The battle was won.

     I sprinted back over the finfish line, barely blinking an eye as a tennis ball struck my shoulder. I had crossed the finish line, and once again, the Jets were the victor.

     My teammates clapped me on the back wearily, muttering, “Sweet moves, Mike my man.” I winked, clapped them energetically on the back, and kept moving. There was someone I wanted to talk to.

     Faith, a short, skinny pink Lutari, waved vigorously from the stands, her sapphire eyes glowing with excitement.

     “That was a brilliant game,” she whispered as I walked over to her and sat wearily down on the bleachers, letting the sun warm my mud-soaked paws.

     “Thank you kindly,” I replied, giving her one of my large grins. There was a moment of contemplative silence (on Faith’s part) before she tugged my ear for attention.

     “I... I have something to ask you. I’ve been watching you play Smash for weeks, and I’ve developed a sort of... obsession with seeing it played. You know Daddy is wealthy, and he works as a teacher here as a fifth job? Well, I was talking to him, and he said he would talk to the boards and try to make Smash an after school sports activity, with you know, tournaments and going against other schools. You guys aren’t the only ones who play Smash,” she explained in one huge breath.

      I looked at her, disbelief contorting my features. This was amazing, fantastic, unbelievable... it was exactly what I had been waiting for, and so much more.

     “But.”

     My reverie of sun-splashed, mowed Smash fields of luscious green grass and sparkling, light-weight armor ended abruptly.

     “But... what?”

     “There’s always a price, silly,” she giggled, punching me playfully in the arm. The punch, which usually felt like an attack from a horde of feathers, suddenly felt like a ton of bricks. “But, you have to let me on the team. The Devils’ team.”

     I gaped openly at her, my eyes boggled, strangled noises of exasperation and disbelief coming from my constricted throat.

     “You can play...? Wha... why the Devils? Why now, when I’M playing? Wh-wh-well... that’s great!” I stammered, breaking into a sweat. Faith was like my sister, and there was no way I was going to hurt her feelings. But this was crazy! Faith couldn’t play, not at all! She’d get hurt out there... physically and mentally. I couldn’t let this happen.

     Sadly, Faith was reading me like an open picture book.

     “You don’t think I can do it, do you?” she hissed, hiding her fury, her lip-gloss sparkling in the afternoon sunlight. She poked me fiercely in the chest, her crystalline eyes bright. “Well, I’ve already talked to Captain Ralph, and he said he won’t mind a bit having me on his team. He says I’ve got potential, and I believe him!”

     She leapt off the bench, taking her fluffy blue short-sleeved sweatshirt with her. “And so should you!” she called back furiously as she stalked off.

     Rough-Ralph had said yes to her, allowed her on the Devils' team? The Zafara was the most violent guy I knew, and he had allowed a GIRL like Faith on his team? He would do anything to win...

     Something had to be up.

      ***

     It was a scorching hot day after school, the air thick, and the wind hotter than a mad Grarrl. I breathed deeply, putting up my blue helmet, looking critically over my boys. Only the smaller guys wore their shell. By now, I realized as they began snickering on sight of me, they knew about Faith. I clocked the closest guy to me, sending him sprawling backwards.

     “What’s so funny, huh, Fredward?” I demanded, looking one of the Smashers on our team in the face, my eyes narrowed into furious slits. “You think today’s gonna be easy, don’t you? Don’t all of you?”

     No one was sprawled lazily on the grass anymore. They were all on their feet, stiff and frightened, sweating behind their sleeveless shirts.

     “They have a girl on their team,” I growled through clenched teeth. “You think that makes the game easier for us?”

     Silence.

     “The Devils are going to work twice as hard on this field,” I hissed, stamping my foot into the mud for emphasis. “Some of you are going to go home crying for momma. The lucky ones. The idiots who are going to laugh at Miss Pinky over there aren’t going to make it home!”

     Twinky, our biggest and maddest Guard, sauntered cockily up to me, grinning broadly. “They ain’t ever broken a single bone in our bodies,” he challenged, wrinkling his little Chomby nose at me. “Why now, when they got Miss Fluffy over d’ere?”

     Without moving a single muscle, save for the ones in my jaw, I roared, “Oh, they won’t harm you that bad. BUT I WILL!”

     Twinky stumbled back as I pumped my fist into the air. “Every day, whadda we play for?”

     “PRIDE!” my men roared, shaking their twigs wildly.

     “Everyday, whadda we strive for?”

     “RESPECT!”

     “Who... are... we...?”

     “THE JETS! BIGGER BADDER TOUGHER STRONGER BETTER THAN THE REST... THE JETS!”

     They’re ready, I thought contentedly to myself. But was I?

      ***

     Faith was a pretty cool girl, I have to admit. Sure, she was obsessed with pink and blonde wigs, but hey, could she resist the inner girly-girl? She had never really tried to outshine anybody, always been a subtle popularity, nothing too shiny, nothing too dull.

     But today, she broke that streak.

     As the teams lined up across the path, guards in their respected positions, Smashers hefting their twigs and tennis balls, breathing heavily in the heat, she pushed herself from the crowd of red-clad Devils, dressed from head to toe in a gleaming red shell. She had a visor, high-heeled boots, and wore gloves that shone brilliantly in the sun.

     She strolled up to my side as I crouched at the beginning of the path.

     “Heylo, Mike,” she greeted, waggling her gloved paw at me jovially. “Fine weather we’re having.”

     “It’s absolutely delightful,” I replied dryly.

     Her eyes widened. “Are you for real? If I had hair, it would be being slow-cooked right now!” she exclaimed.

     I chuckled, then abruptly was ripped into the present. “Where’s Sal?” I demanded, looking at the crowd of mean red guys.

     “Oh, Ralph dropped him, said I was worth ten o’ him,” she said lightly.

     “So, you’re the new Sweeper?” I whispered.

     “Guess so. I mean, I’m not beating your head in with a stick right now, am I?” she replied, just as dryly as I had moments before.

     “No, you’re not,” I retorted sheepishly. “Just... don’t make a scene. We’ll get this over with quickly, smoothly. Just don’t be surprised if you get some mud under your nails.”

     Faith let out a gasp as she covered her furry pink face with her visor. “But daddy said my gloves...”

     “Daddy ain’t never played Smash,” I replied jokingly.

     The referee (really the guy we just hired to signal the beginning and end of the game and stop fights) blew the whistle. I hesitated, glancing one final time at Faith, imploring her to stop this madness. She nodded her head, grinning fiercely.

     She moved with mind-numbing speed, leaving me breathless.

     A red blur flashed before my eyes.

     There was a cry of warning, and roar of approval.

     Then everything went black, spiraling into nothingness.

     When I awoke, the world a groggy, spiraling mess of incoherent colors and sounds, I was face first in the mud. I groaned, turning myself over slowly, blinking my eyes against the burning sunlight. A cluster of blue-clad boys leaned over me, no one as close as the pink, watery figure that was slapping me madly, crying, “Wake up, Mike, wake up! WAKE UP, YOU LITTLE FOOL!”

     I cried out as she accidentally struck my head. Pain rippled down my spine, striking me immobile.

     “Mike, are you okay.” Faith sighed.

     “Not... anymore.” The words were thick, jumbled.

     Cheers, then hushed boos greeted the signal that I was alive. Before I snuck back into unconsciousness, I realized one thing:

     Faith had beaten me.

      ***

     KNOCK KNOCK.

     I closed my eyes against the insistent noise as it berated my sore skull. I rolled off my couch, dragging my sullen body as slowly as I could to the door of my owner’s Neohome. Hopefully, whoever it was would just go...

     KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

     Or stay where they were. I cursed under my breath as another spasm of pain raced through my head. That girl had somehow managed to hit me so hard...

     “OWWWWW STOP!” I wailed as I opened the door, the fist that had been pummeling the oak now pummeling my head.

     “Ooops, my bad.”

     I shut the door as hard as I could handle at the moment as I groggily recognized that voice.

     Faith.

     “Go away,” I grumbled as I hobbled back to the couch. I heard the door slowly creak open behind me.

     “Hey, Mike, I need to talk to you...”

     “Funny, ‘cause I certainly don’t want to talk to you.”

     I was back on the couch now, staring hard at the ceiling. Willing it to fall down and end this conversation.

     Faith’s bubbly pink face reared around the corner, her blue eyes bearing into my own.

     This is your fault, I grumbled silently.

     “I beat you fair and square,” she protested, reading my mind.

     My head hurts, I replied in my own not-so-private-now-that-Faith-was-here thoughts.

     “Well, you shoulda seen that one coming,” she giggled, walking over towards the couch, her footsteps silent.

     How the heck are you doing this?! I yelled wordlessly.

     “Your eyes speak just as loud as your mouth does,” she said sagely. At that I sat up, glaring at her with defiance.

     “You’re not going to get an apology out of me,” I said stubbornly. “You’re the one that ruined my winning record. I haven’t spoken to you for three days. Why? Because Smash is over, done! No one wants to play, now that they know a girl could kick their butts.”

     “That’s a lie!” Faith said, stamping her foot. “You only got your little butt kicked because you weren’t expecting that there was a possibility IT COULD BE KICKED BY A GIRL!”

     “YOU WANNA MAKE THIS A SCREAMING MATCH?!” I challenged, jumping to my feet.

     “YES!”

     “EEEEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHGH!”

     “WAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH!”

     “MEEEEOOOOOW!”

     “OWWWOWOWOWOWOWOWW!”

     In seconds we were both laughing hysterically, patting each other on the back, wiping tears out of our yes.

     “You sounded like... oh my gosh, I don’t even know, Mike...”

     “And what was that ‘meoooowww’ thing that came outta you?” I said, my chuckling fit halting briefly, only to startup again.

     Faith just shrugged, hiccupped, and then sat down on the couch, her head in her hands. “You’re not going to play Smash anymore, are you? Your team needs you, Mike, really bad. They’ve lost every game!”

     I looked at her, biting my lips doubtfully. What was there to say? Faith had proven she was good enough. I had proven how deeply you can swim in the pool of idiocy. Smash was my game, my life. I wasn’t going to give this up for anything, nor was I going to let my teammates down again; and apparently, neither was Faith.

     I glanced quickly at the clock and back again. It was three on the dot. It was a weekend. There was plenty of time to get a good, muddy game started.

     “Nah, Smash is life,” I said cheerily, leaving the living room to look for my light equipment. “And in life, no matter how many times you get whacked with a stick, you always gotta get back up again.”

     Faith looked at me, all seriousness, and then burst out laughing. “You are sooo weird,” she chuckled.

     “Whatever,” I replied, and together, gloves and helmet in my paws, we walked out into the afternoon sunlight, ready to make this game even greater than before.

The End