Tevun-Krus #45 - SportPunk

Looking To Score - A Short Story by @RoshelleD

The sun burned down on the left side of the court, obscuring the view of the stars he'd come to appreciate. That was the only good thing about this particular spot. Around him everything from the muted murmuring in the crowd to the sharp rubber smell of the tennis balls began to overwhelm him. The loudspeaker sounded, giving off three shrieks before a voice finally spoke.

"Two hour break. After that we have one match left before we're finished for today."

The spectators in the crowd cheered and howled.

"Bloody animals." Sidduth plopped down in the seat.

Skidrith Sidduth was his full name, but no one cared. He looked across the way at the opponents. Most of them looked as beat up as he felt. He'd give anything to be back in time to three years ago. BG. Before the games. What he used to enjoy watching as a child had become a literal death match. It was an atrocity to the sport of tennis, yet there was nothing any of them could do. Except play their hearts out.

Literally.

When the games had started for this month, there'd been two teams of twelve. Now the other side was down to eight with his side at ten. And they still had nearly three damn weeks to go. Every three months it went like this. The lottery was played and the players were picked two weeks before the tournament. Aside from a few of them many of the teams hadn't been particularly gifted. Those first events had ended quickly.

The rules were simple. Don't give up on a point and don't end the game at love. Whichever side was unable to score a point during a game had a person randomly picked to be executed. If you gave up before the score was final, you were thrown to the dogs. All you could do was hope to make it out alive.

Sidduth turned away from the battered body being carted away on the stretcher. The man was barely hanging on. Hell, who was he kidding? That guy wouldn't make it out of the tunnel.

Hardly anyone did once they reached that point. Even fewer made it to the ambulance. Sid looked toward the tunnel and silently wished the mangled man good luck. Not that he'd do much now with all of his limbs missing. Back in the days when medicine was important, he could have lived a long and productive life. But these days, "the tourney" was all that mattered. Every resource went to that.

Ironic. The sport he used to love was now the stage for an eternal death match.

These rackets once considered a source of fun were now used as lethal weapons. And the balls that flew across the court showed no mercy. At least when hit well. The lines and the net were the most important thing. Staying alive was all that mattered.

*******

"Point to the red team! Love-Thirty."

The crowd roared as Sid walked back to the service line at the back of the court.

Focus on the lines.

Sid cast his dark eyes over to the man on the other side of the net, who was still trying to catch his breath. Any other time, he would feel bad. Not right now. Lives hung in the balance. Especially his.

Sid closed his eyes for a brief moment as he threw the ball up in the air. By the time he'd swung his racket, he was able to watch the ball speed down the middle before landing right on the T.

That sweet spot where the center line met the first horizontal line on the court was something Sid learned about from the tennis matches he'd watched and played as a child. Only the best backhand shot could get to it. And this guy sure as hell didn't have one.

"Love-Forty."

As his opponent looked at the sky with his hands in the air, Sid almost laughed.

Hahn couldn't help him now, assuming there were any Hahn. Surely they would've saved them all from this.