*Swish*
A ball, a basketball hoop. TK Whitman stands next to a rack housing a plethora of balls. He takes another shot.
*Swish*
Instead of pride or jubilation, Whitman sighs.
“Every time, it’s the same freaking deal.”
*Swish*
Another ball finds its home.
“No matter what, nothing but perfection. These hands contain the Midas touch, turning everything to gold. Every shot, every opportunity. I live my life surrounded by nothing but…”
*Swish*
Another ball is sunk. Whitman’s shoulders slump.
“…Perfection”
TK spits the word out as if it is poison.
“For years, I’ve been seeking a way to break this curse. Yet, no matter what I try… I just cannot. I can’t miss, I can’t lose.”
TK nonchalantly tosses another ball, not even looking at the hoop.
*Swish*
“Fucking… damnit!”
“I was blessed with the perfect metabolism, eating anything and maintaining the perfect physique with no effort.”
Perfection shows off his muscular, chiselled frame, much to his own disgust.
“As a child, I ruined every game I ever played. Nobody else ever stood a chance. I won every race, every contest and every match I’ve ever fought.”
TK balls his fist, face reddened in anger.
“It’s so fucking annoying. Why can’t I just bloody lose?!”
Whitman throws another ball in the opposite direction of the hoop. The ball rebounds off a wall twenty feet away, sails through the air back over his head…
*Swish*
TK simply looks dejected.
“All of this perfection is enough to crush a man. Not because I worry I will lose, but because I worry I never will.”
“I’ve been called a cheat, a fraud… people think I am somehow scamming them. But Arcadia does not understand the plight of perfection that is TK Whitman. I would love to be just like everyone else, with a healthy balance of life’s wins and losses.”
He stares down at the one remaining ball.
“I’d love the opportunity to lose, legitimately. To try, come short and fail. Nothing would make me happier than to see this curse broken.”
The ball is tossed from hand to hand.
“The Wrestling Classic might just be that chance. All it will take is three measly seconds in front of thousands of Arcadians to witness the moment my curse was broken. The moment, hopefully, I meet the one who can defeat perfection personified.”
Whitman smiles, pondering. But the smile is quickly replaced with a scowl.
“But I know, that no matter how hard I try… I’ll go out there and win. I always do. TK Whitman, nothing but perfection. What a fucking prick.”
He bounces the ball, once, catching it again.
“I know the result before I start. But maybe, just maybe this time will be different. Maybe I will taste that sour taste of defeat. Oh, it would taste so sweet to these lips. It truly would be the taste of… perfection.”
Perfection slams the ball into the ground, straight down. TK walks away, as the ball bounces a few times randomly.
But we don’t need to see the result. We already know what’s going to happen.
*Swish*