Testing the Mic

My fingers loosened. The stillness melted away, and I felt the solid blue canvas beneath my boots. I lowered my raised left hand just an inch, testing the freedom in my shoulder, then brought my thumb across the grille of the microphone in my right grip. A crisp, faint tap echoed through my palm. The towering arena around me remained frozen, yet the pulse beneath my boots was undeniably alive. I squared my shoulders, planted my heels into the mat, and claimed the center of the ring.