A Match Against the Timer

Training inside the living room was getting predictable, so I advanced into the kitchen to find a real sparring trial. Resting beside the heavy wooden knife block was a round, mechanical kitchen timer with sharp red dial markings. I braced my feet against the slick laminate, squared up, and drove both fists against its knurled rim. With a heavy, ratcheting click, the dial turned ten notches. Instantly, an intense, steady tick-tock filled the air like an arena countdown. I dropped into my battle stance and matched every click with a disciplined strike in place. When the bell finally rang, I hadn't moved an inch.