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Final Round
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2024 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: individual
The crowd sounds died away somewhat as the referee and the announcer stepped into the ring. The bear’s black and white striped shirt was marred with a smeared pawprint in drying blood, while the announcer’s suit wasn’t quite as neat as it had been when the fight started.
The crowd quieted further as the referee waved and a microphone descended on a cable to the announcer’s waiting paw. The whitetail buck seized the microphone and said loudly, “Ladies and gentlemen!”
“This is the twelfth,” the buck shouted hoarsely into the microphone, “and final round for the heavyweight championship! The judges’ scores are all even!” The crowd roared as the buck released the microphone, which was hauled back up into the arena’s rafters. He left the ring as the bear straightened his striped shirt and beckoned the two boxers to join him at the center of the canvas square.
The first boxer to get up was the reigning champion, a solidly-built lion who looked much the worse for wear after going eleven straight rounds. He seemed to be favoring the left side of his chest and abdomen after a punishing flurry of solid punches to his ribs. The lion panted, tongue lolling as he put on a brave face while the challenger shrugged away his seconds and stamped forward.
The tiger looked worse, blood dappling his striped fur, one eye swollen shut. He reached the center and stood there, gloved fists at his sides, glaring at his opponent as the crowd noise swelled.
The referee turned to the tiger and asked, “Are you all right? Can you go on?”
The tiger nodded curtly, never taking his one-eyed gaze from the lion.
“How about you, Champ?” the bear asked. “Can you go on?”
The lion met the tiger’s gaze.
He felt his throat go dry and his abused ribs ached.
The tiger wasn’t seeing him, wasn’t even looking at him; the challenger was looking through him, to a future when he stood alone in the ring, his vanquished foe at his feet.
After eleven punishing rounds, each one three minutes of private hell, the tiger still looked like he was going to win.
The reigning champion squared his shoulders, meeting that gaze and saying wordlessly If you want my crown, you have to go through me.
The tiger’s gaze said Then I will.
“Yeah,” the lion told the bear. “I’m good.”
The referee nodded and shouted, “Seconds out! Final round!” To the fighters he said, “Touch gloves and go back to your corners. Come out when the bell rings. Got it?” The two nodded, touched gloves, and retreated.
The referee glanced at the timekeeper, who clicked his stopwatch as he rang the bell.
The referee backpedaled as the crowd roared and the lion came out of his corner, doing a dancing shuffle that was a parody of his actions at the start of the bout. The tiger came out, a little lighter on his feet and less touched in the wind.
They met near the center of the ring and the lion opened the round with a roar as he swung a roundhouse right aimed at the tiger’s blind side. The tiger ducked, bringing his right fist up hard and connecting solidly with his opponent’s already abused ribs. He backed as the lion wheezed, glaring balefully at the tiger.
The tiger’s gaze never wavered as he advanced, blocking the lion’s left paw with his right forearm and delivering a hard left to the champion’s midriff, just under the solar plexus. The lion dropped to his knees, wheezing, and the referee stepped in to keep the tiger back.
“One!” the referee called out, and the bear got to Three before the champion staggered to his feet.
The fight resumed as the crowd roared its approval, the furs in the front rows almost screaming their support for one fighter or the other. Some had foam flecking their muzzles.
The round continued, the two boxers each describing a zigzag course, looking for an opening. They would close in, trade punches, and back off again, the tiger shaking his head after one such exchange. The challenger suddenly charged, locking the lion in an embrace and delivering a hard staccato of blows against the lion’s ribs.
There was a spike of pain as one of the bones snapped under the abuse, and the lion went down on his knees again.
“Back off to your corner!” the bear said to the tiger, and the challenger backed off, blood trailing from his nostrils to drip and spatter on the canvas. He stood waiting, chest heaving, as the referee began the ten-count.
The lion winced in pain and glanced back at his seconds. He shook his head.
“TEN!” the bear shouted, and the crowd went mad as the bell rang and both fighters’ seconds swarmed into the ring.
The tiger, the new champion, stood alone.
end
A Thursday Prompt story
© 2024 by Walter Reimer
Prompt: individual
The crowd sounds died away somewhat as the referee and the announcer stepped into the ring. The bear’s black and white striped shirt was marred with a smeared pawprint in drying blood, while the announcer’s suit wasn’t quite as neat as it had been when the fight started.
The crowd quieted further as the referee waved and a microphone descended on a cable to the announcer’s waiting paw. The whitetail buck seized the microphone and said loudly, “Ladies and gentlemen!”
“This is the twelfth,” the buck shouted hoarsely into the microphone, “and final round for the heavyweight championship! The judges’ scores are all even!” The crowd roared as the buck released the microphone, which was hauled back up into the arena’s rafters. He left the ring as the bear straightened his striped shirt and beckoned the two boxers to join him at the center of the canvas square.
The first boxer to get up was the reigning champion, a solidly-built lion who looked much the worse for wear after going eleven straight rounds. He seemed to be favoring the left side of his chest and abdomen after a punishing flurry of solid punches to his ribs. The lion panted, tongue lolling as he put on a brave face while the challenger shrugged away his seconds and stamped forward.
The tiger looked worse, blood dappling his striped fur, one eye swollen shut. He reached the center and stood there, gloved fists at his sides, glaring at his opponent as the crowd noise swelled.
The referee turned to the tiger and asked, “Are you all right? Can you go on?”
The tiger nodded curtly, never taking his one-eyed gaze from the lion.
“How about you, Champ?” the bear asked. “Can you go on?”
The lion met the tiger’s gaze.
He felt his throat go dry and his abused ribs ached.
The tiger wasn’t seeing him, wasn’t even looking at him; the challenger was looking through him, to a future when he stood alone in the ring, his vanquished foe at his feet.
After eleven punishing rounds, each one three minutes of private hell, the tiger still looked like he was going to win.
The reigning champion squared his shoulders, meeting that gaze and saying wordlessly If you want my crown, you have to go through me.
The tiger’s gaze said Then I will.
“Yeah,” the lion told the bear. “I’m good.”
The referee nodded and shouted, “Seconds out! Final round!” To the fighters he said, “Touch gloves and go back to your corners. Come out when the bell rings. Got it?” The two nodded, touched gloves, and retreated.
The referee glanced at the timekeeper, who clicked his stopwatch as he rang the bell.
The referee backpedaled as the crowd roared and the lion came out of his corner, doing a dancing shuffle that was a parody of his actions at the start of the bout. The tiger came out, a little lighter on his feet and less touched in the wind.
They met near the center of the ring and the lion opened the round with a roar as he swung a roundhouse right aimed at the tiger’s blind side. The tiger ducked, bringing his right fist up hard and connecting solidly with his opponent’s already abused ribs. He backed as the lion wheezed, glaring balefully at the tiger.
The tiger’s gaze never wavered as he advanced, blocking the lion’s left paw with his right forearm and delivering a hard left to the champion’s midriff, just under the solar plexus. The lion dropped to his knees, wheezing, and the referee stepped in to keep the tiger back.
“One!” the referee called out, and the bear got to Three before the champion staggered to his feet.
The fight resumed as the crowd roared its approval, the furs in the front rows almost screaming their support for one fighter or the other. Some had foam flecking their muzzles.
The round continued, the two boxers each describing a zigzag course, looking for an opening. They would close in, trade punches, and back off again, the tiger shaking his head after one such exchange. The challenger suddenly charged, locking the lion in an embrace and delivering a hard staccato of blows against the lion’s ribs.
There was a spike of pain as one of the bones snapped under the abuse, and the lion went down on his knees again.
“Back off to your corner!” the bear said to the tiger, and the challenger backed off, blood trailing from his nostrils to drip and spatter on the canvas. He stood waiting, chest heaving, as the referee began the ten-count.
The lion winced in pain and glanced back at his seconds. He shook his head.
“TEN!” the bear shouted, and the crowd went mad as the bell rang and both fighters’ seconds swarmed into the ring.
The tiger, the new champion, stood alone.
end
Category Story / General Furry Art
Species Tiger
Size 120 x 92px
File Size 57.7 kB
Listed in Folders
True. On a related note I read a book recently which had a section on unusual historic events. It described a boxing match that took place in the US in the late 19th century where the boxer, the undefeated reigning champion, would invite anyone in the audience to go three rounds with him. A number of men would have a go and be put out basically straightaway, then as part of the show a young and slimly built woman would volunteer and end up going the full three rounds with him, all in good fun. Well one day they were boxing when he accidently hit her harder than intended, she lost her temper, whacked him with a straight right punch...and knocked him unconscious flat on his back, the first time he was ever knocked out. Apparently it was quite genuine but the crowd liked it so much it was incorporated into their act afterwards.
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