Word: Fleer

 

fleer

\ fleer \  , verb;

1. to grin or laugh coarsely or mockingly.

2. to mock or deride.

3. a fleering look; a jeer or gibe.

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               Jack panted as a few beads of sweat ran down his forehead.  Every muscle in his body was sore and tired, but he forced it out of his mind.  He had to if he wanted any chance of winning.  The score might have been leaning in his opponents favor, but he had heard of players come back from worse.  In fact, the five point difference was easily manageable, even with the scant ten minutes remaining. 

               His opponent looked just as tired as he did, so there was that.  Even so, he still looked at Jack with that same sneer plastered on.  That mocking, insulting sneer.  He had come into the ring with that look on his battered face and had somehow managed to keep it on for the entire match.  Jack wanted nothing more than to cave in the teeth that formed that look. Maybe give put some color around his eyes.  Eyes that seemed made to be mocking and degrading.  Jack thought they might look good with a large black circle around them.  It would so be worth the penalties such acts would bring.  It would probably guarantee his loss, but at least his opponent would think twice before looking at him like that the next time. 

               “What’s the matter Jack Sprat?  You look a bit tired.”  His opponent said through his own strained breaths.  Jack hated being called that.  He had suffered through that name all through school.  He had hoped he’d be rid of it upon reaching adulthood, but there it was, rearing its ugly head once more.

               “Not on your life.  I still got a lot left.  More than enough to wipe the floor with you.”   Jack said.  His opponent said nothing.  His sneer grew wider and more vicious, which was all the response that was needed.

               A buzzer sounded, indicating the start of the final round.  A bright ball of green light shot up from out of the ground, and both Jack and his opponent sprung into action.  Jack’s right arm shot out and a thread of red light shot out of a small tube mounted on his wrist.  His opponent did the same, casting out a thin strand of blue light.  Both threads struck the ball at nearly the same instant.  The light shifted from green to red.  Jack snickered at his opponent as he pulled the light away.

               The ball of light impacted his gloved hand with a dull thud.  Most people thought the ball was weightless, since it was mostly light. But only a player knew that was not the case.  The thing weighed just over five pounds, so a hard enough impact could do some damage.  Of course, the equipment dissipated most of that impact, but the dull pain in Jack’s wrist was a constant reminder that it wasn’t a perfect system. 

               As soon as the glowing ball was in his hands, he made a mad dash for the opposite wall.  He tensed his fingers for a second, feeling the magnetic coils in his fingers, elbows and knees uncoiling.  He hit the wall full force, but had braced himself enough that it only slowed him down for a fraction of a second.  It was all his opponent needed.  A small blue light turned on to indicate that a thread of blue light had been attached to one of the attachment points on his suit, most likely the big one between his shoulders, but he couldn’t be sure. 

Regardless of the location of the attachment, Jack couldn’t waste any more time.  He used the magnets on his suit to scramble up the wall, making sudden and erratic movements in the hopes of detaching the thread.  It wasn’t quite enough though, as he felt his opponent pulling him off the wall.  As the magnets gave out, he threw the ball up towards the ceiling with all his remaining power.  The ball hit its mark, and the ceiling turned red.  Just two more plays like that and he’d score.  Not enough to win, or even tie, but with the clock ticking, every point was valuable. 

He hit the ground with a heavy impact.  The air from his lungs was forced out.  Not enough to fully stop him though.  He was still attached to the ball, but his opponent was working to fix his own thread to it in order to take possession.  He grabbed his thread and twisted his entire body, forcing the ball to be dragged towards his opponent in an attempt to bludgeon him with it.  Or at least get him to back off long enough to recover.  His plan worked, and he was able to regain his footing and quickly pull the ball back to his hands.

As soon as he got a grip on it, he lobbed the ball to the wall he had just been scaling, striking it in the proper place to turn that wall red as well.  Before he could get it back though, it turned purple.  He glowered at his opponent, who looked triumphant.  It was the last thing Jack wanted.  With the timer running out, he might not have enough time to get out of a grapple with enough seconds left to score.  And even if he did, he couldn’t do it the five more times he needed to win.  He needed to detach the other thread as quickly as possible if he was to have any chance. 

The ball hovered in between them as both players pulled in an attempt to gain full control over it.  In a sudden flash of inspiration, Jack let his line go slack.  The move made his opponent lose his balance just long enough to yank the ball free.  He made a beeline for the adjacent wall, throwing the ball hard order to reach its target.  He had thrown too soon though, and it once again turned purple as his opponent’s blue thread attached.  The wall turned a deep purple shade as the ball ricocheted off it. 

Jack knew he couldn’t use the same maneuver again.  His opponent would be ready for it.  What he wasn’t ready for was the sudden movement of his opponent.  He suddenly reversed course and ran the opposite way.  The action nearly forced Jack’s arm out of its socket.  His opponent continued to run around, looping around in circles.  Jack had no choice but to withdrawn his thread, or else risk being tangled up in it and having to waste precious time getting himself sorted out. 

The now blue ball flew into his opponent’s hand, who made a rush towards one of the uncolored walls.  Jack followed closely behind, hoping to at least force another purple wall.  Unfortunately, his opponent did not throw the ball, even when he was in position.  With sudden horror, Jack realized that he was just trying to wait out the clock, safe in his five point lead.

Jack couldn’t claim the ball while his opponent was holding it, so he had to get it away from him first.  He cast out his line, aiming for one of the attachment points on the feet of his opponent’s suit.  A sudden direction change and the line hit nothing but the floor.  Jack continued trying to affix his thread to his opponent, but his panic was keeping him from aiming properly, and every attempt missed.  Jack risked a glance to the timer, seeing that he had a good five minutes left, he look a series of deep breaths to calm himself down and aim. 

Then he saw the look in his opponent’s eyes.  They were locked with his own, still somehow holding the same taunting sneer.  Anger colored his vision, and he cast out his line to one of the attachment points in the front of his opponents suit.  This time, the move was so unexpected that it hit.  Jack yanked on the line as soon as he could, pulling his opponent off balance, allowing him a window of opportunity.  He grabbed the ball and immediately took possession of it, managing to turn the two more walls he needed red, earning him a single point.

With just over four minutes left, he knew he couldn’t win, but not for lack of trying.  As soon as the walls reset, he started again.  His opponent though, prevented him from doing much of anything.  The blue thread attached to one of his attachment points, and his opponent began running in small, quick circles.  Jack stumbled over his own feet as he became tangled up in the blue light.  He scrambled to undo the trap, but it just kept rewinding itself.

All too soon, the buzzer sounded, signaling the end of the game.  Jack collapsed on the ground, exhausted, and more than a little disappointed.

“Nice try Jack.  Maybe next time you’ll actually have a shot.”  His opponent said in his irritatingly triumphant voice.  He left, leaving Jack on the ground to stew in his most recent defeat.    

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Ah the wonders of science fiction.  It allows us to envision what might come after.  To create aliens and the worlds they inhabit.  To soar amongst the stars.  And, it gives the ability to write a sports story without knowing ANYTHING about sports!  Making stuff up is a great thing, isn't it? (Plus, I happen to think the word itself sounds kind of sci fi-ish, don't you?)