The Curse of Water

Chapter 8- Battling a Nightmare

Chapter Eight – Battling a Nightmare

I open the door to my dorm room and find a clean, small, but very nice suite with a couch, a little bathroom, two single beds and a kitchenette. Apollo is nowhere to be found, but his bags are scattered all over the room, with his white and gold Champions uniforms hung in the open wardrobe. I step closer and inspect the tight muscle shirt, busy with the logo's of advertisers from different stores, gas companies and restaurants. On the chest the writing matches the content of the larger font on the back, across the shoulders: Apollo Sheridan, 4x Tournament Champion.

I will be receiving my uniform tomorrow evening, if I make it that far, and I really wonder what it will read. Which reminds me, I haven't called Mr. Rafaelli about the colours I want on it. Most people get theirs custom made based on a selection of designs, and the title always relates to your current position in the Tournament. Still, I doubt that any businesses will be begging to get on my jersey. The door knob turns and my friend is back, carrying a couple big plastic bags full of styrofoam take out boxes.

“Hey buddy! You're back. I hope you haven't been waiting too long, I thought I'd get us some dinner. How did it go?”

“I got a 40.”

“A 40? That's great, only 10 points to go!” He says, dropping the food on the counter and beginning to spread the boxes out. “Okay, so should we use plates like civilized people, or are you cool with eating from the package? Personally I say we should just bring it all to the beds and –”

“Or I have a hundred and ten to go.” I say, feeling less than enthusiastic about the food, even despite the fact that I haven't really eaten all day.

“Marcus, if you do this to yourself you're going to end up like those poor people that psych themselves out and go in to round two with their entire body shaking. Then what happens? They drop their spear before they even have the chance to throw it and end up with a score of 2. Don't think about it. Come on, let's eat and watch some movie.” Apollo responds, picking up a stack of boxes and balancing them between his hands and chin. “Can you get some forks, and the drinks?”

“Sure.” I grab the requested items and actually look forward to watching a mindless, idiotic comedy. (Those seem to be the only movies made here, other than horror movies, mostly about the underworld, and tutti fruity cheesy love stories.)

A couple hours later it would be pretty hard to imagine me being in the limbo between life and death by looking at us. Among the piles of empty plastic soft drink bottles, take out boxes, and candy wrappers, there is my best friend and I, howling like hyenas on a severe sugar high. We've flipped the channels to last years Fashion/Beauty events and laughed ourselves to tears imitating the intense eyes on some male model in pink faux fur underwear and the fake smiles and tiny butt swinging steps of the girls on the runways.

“Well I think we worked off tonight's dinner.” Apollo says, still in a bit of a fit, turning the screen off and trying to massage out his sore abdomen.

“Oh man, I agree.” I say, rubbing the tears from my eyes and stretching my cramping stomach. “That was a fun night.”

“Not the last one.” Apollo turns to me with a more serious tone, and I nod, knowing there is just no way it all is to end tomorrow.

“Xavier and Kendrick were on my panel today.”

“Huh...”

“Huh?”

“Well, it makes sense why you got such a crap score.”

“A crap score? It's not like I got a 10 Apollo.”