Fortified with their overwhelming verbal support, Megog dipped his
muscled shoulder and shot forward. Quickly I dodged to the right,
but he had anticipated my very move and crashed straight into my
chest. He had guessed my path of escape. With a loud thud, my back
slammed the mat and my head bounced off the hard rubber surface.
Starbursts of pain rocketed through my brain like a meteor shower.
I lay there dazed, unable to move.
The crowd jumped to their feet and cheered Megog had executed a
brilliant combination move. This society's love of violence in
sport was particularly keen.
Pulling myself to my knees, I couldn't breathe. My eyes refused
to focus and all I could see was a colorful kaleidoscope of fuzzy
objects. My head felt like it was in a hot steel vice that someone
was tightening. Again, I gasped for air, but none came. I knew what
would happen next and tried to raise my arms to defend myself, but
my body rebelled. My brain couldn't activate my muscles. "Dear
Jesus," was all I could say before I fell to the mat in an
unconscious heap.
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