— Ronak Soni


He rode the cacophony away from the field, to where his teammate had hit the ball. And he temperately fought against its push, so that his ride on the wave was smooth, and sure; so that he got his left hand under the ball and dove forward to drive it backward – so that one might say that the wave broke at that moment with him its lip.

– And, just as a wave is unmoved by the piercing of the surface by the tip of an animal’s shell just where it will first hit the sand, he felt nothing – not even triumph at the winning of the rally – but completeness, at the reality of the knife.


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