Your name is Sarah, Sarah Daniels to be precise. And you’re a rising star in the North American Junior Tennis League!
At least that’s what you think of yourself, because you haven’t played a single game yet and today is just your first serious practice with your idol as your coach. James Blake himself noticed you at the final match in the regional championship, when you defeated your opponent with a devastating score. After the match, he approached you and said that he sees potential in you, and he does not want this potential to be wasted, therefore he will train you personally. It was last weekend.
And so, you’re standing on the court, crouched. You are tense and slightly nervously fiddling with the racket in your hands, carefully looking at the cannon for ejecting tennis balls, trying to predict where it will point its barrel. And everything seems to be fine, but one small detail of this machine still haunts you: there are no such multi-colored moving and even more so squeaking and chirping tennis balls! You don’t like all this.
And so, the gun began to buzz, playing with the barrel back and forth, from left to right and back.
BTUM!!
A bright red ball flies out of the bell of the cannon and, giving out a heartbreaking squeak, flies a little to the right of you. You rush to intercept him, making a strong swing. But, at the last moment, you notice that this is not a ball, but a small red fluffy cute still milky unicorn, whose eyes opened right during its flight in your direction. Realizing this, your hand trembled and instead of a strong blow, the racket just scratches at him at the wrong angle, tearing off his front legs and jaw, they get stuck between the fishing line in the cells of the racket, and the poor crippled unicorn, choking from pain and screaming with a wet slap, falls under your feet. Of course, you know who Fluffies are, after all, you are A GIRL and you LOVE everything cute, and even more so, it never occurred to you that anybody can act so cruelly with these cuties!
In shock, you drop the racket and fall to your knees, lifting the crippled foal with trembling hands and you start to cry bitterly, holding the dying foal gurgling with bloody foam from the torn lungs and vomiting blood from the unevenly severed jaw of the foal in your hands. You keep crying exactly until the moment when your trainer’s cry is carried right above you. You try to distract yourself and listen to your coach:
- Sarah? Sarah! You’re doing everything wrong, let me show you how!
Your coach picks up your racket, swings it a couple of times, getting used to its size, weight and balance, and commands the releaser: - Billy, fire on three, ready?
- Yes, sir!
- Three!!
BTUM!!
And this time the dark green squealing ball flies much more to the left and closer to the grid than the previous bright red one. Blake rushes towards him, a strong swing from above… Hit! Just in time of hit, an explosion of a mixture of blood, shit, scraps of intestines and skin shoots out behind the net of the racket, and the pitiful legless and crumpled remains of what a second ago was just another cute little milk foal are imprinted on the advertising side of the enclosings around the court, splashing into a big blot from all the power of the blow.
Shaking off the racket from the guts, blood and fluff that have stuck to the net, Blake approaches you and holds it out to you with the handle forward:
- That’s the way to strike right! A tennis ball is a lot harder and heavier than those little bastards, which means that one shot of yours would have more likely twisted your wrist. Don’t repeat your mistakes! Ready to continue?
In complete shock, you emit a half-strangled squeal and, continuing to hold the still amazingly-not-dead-yet unicorn in your hands, crawl away from him backwards, with an expression of horror on your face.
In a second, Blake’s face instantly darkens and without any warmth in his voice he turns to you: - Sarah, do you feel sorry for these absolutely useless bags of shit?
You find the strength to quietly answer him:
-Sir, you are wrong, they are not useless, they are very cute… And besides, they are living little animals, they feel everything too! You can’t treat them like that, it’s cruel and inhuman!
Blake’s face takes on a stern expression, he silently approaches you, squats in front of you, and stares for a long time(like, 10 seconds) without blinking at the red unicorn in your hands, which still not dying, but in severe and ruthless pain. Then he nods to something:
Yes, it’s inhuman. It’s inhuman to leave him like this!
Then he abruptly grabs the still wheezing and gurgling colt from your hands, and with a sharp movement tears off his head, after which he throws the head and body behind him. After which he again stares at you with a heavy and gloomy look: - Remember Sarah, they are not alive and do not feel anything, these are just programmed reactions of an advanced bio-toy. They are useless and will not teach you anything by themselves. There is nothing wrong with people finding uses for them that they themselves cannot think of. For the first time, I forgive you, but in the future this should not happen again, otherwise I will transfer your training to someone else. Do you understand me?
You could only nod silently. No matter how much you love these cute animals, the desire to be successful and famous was much stronger, and if for this you have to step over yourself in training, you will do it! In the end, having become a successful athlete, no one can forbid you to get yourself one such fluffy and treat him the way you yourself want. Until then, well, you’ll have to put your feelings aside.
You took the racket, stood up, closed your eyes, shook your head, concentrating and, sharply opening your eyes, strained again, starting to track the movement of the gun again.
“That’s good girl you are!”, Blake purred under his breath and already loudly commanded the releaser, retreating to the coach’s folding chair: - Billy, on the count of “Three!” (-”Yes, Mr. Blake!”) … THREE!!
