Write this story – Idea #3

I’m embedding an image here so you can see the story from which I’m supposed to be drawing inspiration. In case you are wondering, all these ideas can be found at writeabout.com


I hadn’t seen Mabelle in fifty years, so it was a surprise when we ran into each other in the grocery store. I hadn’t been paying very close attention to where I was going, and managed to push my basket straight into someone else’s – well, hers. I looked up, ready to apologize. We locked eyes.

“You” she said.
“Uhg,” I groaned, “Weren’t you supposed to have retired to Miami?”
“I got sick of the heat” she replied.

We shared a moment of awkward silence. We had never been friends, but we were never enemies either. We had been opponents in the 2059 Female International Wrestling Championship – and I beat her. I mean, I really whipped her hard. She cried for a week, according to the tabloids.

I cleared my throat to bid adieu, but she spoke first.
“I want a rematch” she nearly shouted.
I wanted to tell her how ridiculous she sounded, but the world champion inside of me couldn’t back down to a rematch.
“Fine,” I said, “and winner takes home the 2059 championship belt.”

We made a plan to meet at the gym around the corner from the grocery store in 2 days, where we would have this epic showdown.

The morning of the big fight, I made sure to eat cream of wheat with a tall orange juice. I even added a side of bacon because I knew I’d need the extra calories. Mabelle had become slight and saggy in her old age, but that meant she might be a little quicker on her feet. I couldn’t let her have the upper hand!

Arriving at the gym, I saw her there, all suited up and ready to throw down. As I walked over, belt in hand, I wondered about the ridiculousness we were about to engage in. Were two old ladies really going to wrestle over a belt that stopped meaning anything a lifetime ago? It wasn’t worth it – how many times in those many years did I even look at that belt? And how many others had I won after that?

I knew what I had to do.

“Mabelle, look, I don’t want to wrestle; I’m too old. I forfeit. The belt is yours.”
She looked at me, almost angry, but snatched the belt out of my hand anyway.
“I’m going to tell everyone I won it fair and square, and that you begged for mercy before tapping out.”
“That’s fine,” I replied. “Why don’t we take a picture as proof for your friends?”
Mabelle’s eyes lit up.
“That’d be great!”

We had the only other person in the gym take our photo. She was kind enough not to ask questions. Mabelle walked away the victor she always thought she deserved to be, but I knew that I had won yet again.


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