It’s All in the Wrists
“It’s all in the wrists, see?” Trevor explained with a calculated swing that left no one indifferent.
Melanie nodded. She did see it, and it made perfect sense. A combination of balance, strength, and sense of trajectory was a sure path to success.
Trevor held the racket with pride, much like he had held the trophy that smashed half her face a few months prior. He smiled. She smiled right back at him with a row of false teeth, a piece of broken glass hiding in her bruised hands.
Another ball flew in his direction, touched by the sun. He blinked to try to keep up with it. Melanie seized the light, jumped into the shadows underneath, and rained down on his parade.
The tennis court rejoiced as Trevor became livid. The assault on his throat wasn’t enough to take him down but the other two cuts were to bring him to his knees, veins open in a pool of crimson.
“It’s all in the wrists,” she spat before picking up the racket to play with his brain.
