Owen Posted June 20 Posted June 20 (edited) The hallway is quiet. Industrial lights cast long shadows on concrete. Somewhere distant, a crowd still roars — but it’s no longer Skadi’s roar. Skadi sits alone on a bench near the medic’s station. Her braids are loose. Her wrist tape is half-torn. She hasn’t showered yet. The salt still clings to her skin. She’s staring at her boots. Footsteps approach. A backstage hand offers her a towel. She takes it, nods once. Doesn’t speak. Interviewer: Skadi… anything you want to say about what happened out there tonight? She doesn’t look up. She doesn’t need to. Skadi: She was better tonight. Pause. No bitterness in it. Just fact. Skadi: I hit her with everything I had. And it wasn’t enough. She finally looks up. Her eyes are clear. No tears. Just stormclouds. Skadi: I didn’t come here to make excuses. I came here to test myself. She stands. Not fast. But with weight, with presence. Skadi: I don’t want sympathy. I don’t want pity. I want the next fight. Because the next time I fall… I’ll be one step closer to standing where they can’t knock me down. She throws the towel over her shoulder and walks past the camera. Her footsteps are the only sound. Fade out. Edited June 21 by Owen 4
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