But wait, there she is standing near the big, grandiose entrance door. With her favorite drinks on her big hands, she tells me to get some. I take it to satiate my thirst and I notice that her thick eyebrows become narrowed. I ask her, "What's the matter?" She questions me back, "there are still two sets, can you really make it?" I reply confidently, "yes." I could see that that worried woman seems to be hesitating, but I stubbornly do not care. Then the tired me decide to proceed into the court. I take a deep breath for the last time and use my red shirt to wipe off all the salty sweats. I was only half-conscious.
In just a blink, the fast, sudden ball comes. I try to bump in the correct posture, but I fail. It knocks me down to the hard floor. Then, the blonde-hair, blue-eyes girl tries to help me up. I'm too tired to hesitate. All the negative thoughts come to me. What will happen if I lose? Why this American Barbie helped me? Is she trying to bring me down again? But all of my worst thoughts disappear when the 'fake' she tells me to go on. Her actions are dubious that I don't quite understand, but still I catch her hand. It is such an uncool of me to let my 'beloved' enemy to help me. I feel humiliated for being weak and stupid.
Just when I think that she is amicable and lovely, I catch a glimpse of her cunning smirk. I know her game now, but still I try to not to notice it. She knows that my weakness and she also knows that my strength is running out. I am about to cry at how pathetic I look right now, but I cannot simply do that. I can't afford to win nor to lose. All I know is that she is playing 'games' with me. I don't really mind because I know just how to end the 'games'.
 |
| http://www.mrxinu.com/wp-content/uploads/2011/12/HYPERHID1.jpg |
 |
| http://feministsforchoice.com/wp-content/uploads/2012/07/2630volley_ball1.jpg |
