(CONTEST ENTRY) || IT'S JUST A JOB || #all #trending #story #boxing #contest

Instructions

A short story about young boxer Andy, life, believing, and never giving up! Press the green flag for music. If you want to read in in the project, press space, right arrow, or right side of the screen to go forward, and press left arrow or left side of the screen to go backwards. Or you can just read it here by scrolling a little bit down. Enjoy! Sorry for the bad quality of pages, importing pictures in scratch is kind of fun... "Andy... Andy... " I open my eyes. Everything is seemed like a dream. But wait, something familiar is here in this room. I look at the poster with "The Rumble in the Jungle: George Foreman vs. Muhammad Ali" words on it. Then everything slowly fall into place in my head... That's my room! "Andy! Come eat, baby!" I hear a little grumbling behind me. I turn around and see a twelve-years-old boy with black curly hair, his brown eyes looking at me with a challenging sparkle. He is lying on the bed, cleaning up red boxing gloves. It’s me, but seven years ago. "Mum, don't call me 'baby', please!" other me says, putting away the gloves and getting up from bed. I walk after little Andy to the kitchen. I see my mom Jane putting a plate with tomato pasta on the table, my favorite dish when I was little. Young me sits behind the table, his eyes sparkled again, but this time with joy. While he eats, mom takes off her apron and hugs him. "My little boxers," she says quietly and gently, "You forgot to wash your hands, dummy." I close my eyes. Mom was the one who believed in me while others didn't. "Andy... Andy... " I open my eyes again. It's not my house, now it's a training hall. I had counted it as a second home. I look to the left. Near some punching bags I see fifteen-years-old version of myself: higher, wider in shoulders, but same uncombed hair and fired up eyes. Nearby is an Afro-American middle-aged man, coach Denrick, explaining me another combination of punches in head and body. I smile and close my eyes. I remember that all the time when I had been beaten up in sparring coach Denrick always walked to me, helped to get up from the ground and said, "If you had never fallen down, then you had never gotten up, kiddo." "Andy... Believe in yourself... " I open my eyes. The places and people change very fast without any order. I see myself winning my first box fight. Now I'm graduated from school. Mom and small me near dad's grave. First kiss. I'm crying. Then I see my dad. It wasn't any memory, just him slowly walking to me. I see his short hair, his favorite work costume. Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. "Andy," he says, little smile on his mouth, "Andy, the fight is not over... " I open my eyes, now in real life. I'm lying on the boxing ring in the full stadium with many people shouting. My opponent, Jamie "Rage" Carrell, stands on the other side, leaning on the ropes, while the referee is counting seconds near me. I hear coach Denrick shouting, "Andy, wake up! Wake up!!" Jesus Christ... I quickly get up at the same moment when the referee shouts "nine". The head hurts a little bit, but I remember everything. It's the third round of the Olympic games final. Carrel is a strong fighter with a powerful jab, and one of them knocked me down to the ground so strong that I lost consciousness for a few moments. When I get up, and the referee says "fight", I quickly think. First round I've won I was better in ten times. But in the second Carrel pulled himself, so he was better then. And now he knocked me down, so he is winning this round and the game itself. Only if I'll knock out him, I'll take the gold medals... For you, mum and dad... And coach, of course. I knocked him out five seconds later with my first punch. And yes, by knocking out I mean that he fell down behind the ropes, on the judges table. The referee stopped the fight, I ran from the ring to coach and my mom. While wearing the medal on my neck, I step down from the ring with my coach and our team. I want to go to the dressing room and take a shower, but journalists, there are about twenty of them, are blocking the way, asking for a few words about the fight from me. My team tries to block them to make me walk away, but I've got something to say, so I ask them to give me a minute. Many microphones with cameras point at me. I look at my coach, smiling. Then I turn back. "Sun is shining," I say with a sigh, "Birds are singing. Butterflies flying. I beat up people. It's only a job." With these words I continue my way, while the team blocks the journalists, shocked from my words. It's just a job... to never give up.