A Firm Grip on the Corner

Silence held the canvas until a pulse ran straight down to my boots. I found myself suspended mid-motion, perched high near the ropes. Deliberately, I tightened the fingers of my right glove, testing the weight in my arm. I reached out and pressed my gloved hand against the dark figure before me, feeling the solid resistance beneath my palm. Every fiber locked in place, grounded and ready. I lowered my stance against the turnbuckle, perfectly balanced in the square.