The Knockout
A short story about a fighter’s bargain with death.
I fell in the hallway.
Juniper’s colorful drawings hung on her bedroom door. Her imagination captured on paper with crayons. Parchment taped loose, torn, and aged like the scales of an ancient dragon.
My chest tightened.
This isn’t real?
My four-year-old’s collection of winged ponies and mythical creatures covered the door. This was her gallery. Her record of dreams.
Had my faith become rewarded?
I stood, shirtless, my skin wet with sweat, and touched one of the pictures. The drawing made me smile. I followed the curved crayon line. I still wore my black fighter’s gloves.
It worked.
I could hear her silly songs. She’d sing them when coloring. Making up words, humming the parts she didn’t know. She felt happy and proud when she finished a masterpiece and added it to the gallery. Her eyes shone with joy and her face had a dimpled smile.
The Skinny Lady kept her promise.
Juniper’s artwork proved it.
This house contained my regrets. Death lived here. My daughter, my marriage, and my faith haunted the hallway. This place should not exist for me but it did for her.
