Hubris


	The two women entered the cabin, and I closed the door 
behind them quickly.  "Trip OK?" I asked.
	The hood of one of the parkas came down to reveal a 
smiling blonde.  "Draining," she said in a voice I recognized 
from the phone. 
	"You must be April," I said.  She nodded.  Her partner, 
a quiet, plain-looking brunette, was carrying a small valise 
to the living room.  "Would you like something to eat?" I 
offered.
	April giggled, unzipping her coat.  "There'll be time 
enough to. eat," she said, revealing the skin-tight leotard 
beneath.  Boy, was she. stacked seemed too trashy word.   Her 
breasts were full, shapely, but not pendulous.   I smiled.  
"Came in costume, huh?" I said.
	"The agreement was no rest period," she said.  "No time 
to change.  Should we start?"
	"I suppose so.  Follow me," I said, moving to the living 
room.
	Her friend was already on the couch, valise at her side.  
She was dressed more everyday, pink sweater and jeans.  "OK, 
ladies," I said.  "Before we begin, I should review the rules.  
I know we talked about them, but this is just to confirm you 
understand what you're agreeing to before we get started."
	Both women nodded their acquiescence.  "The second you 
let go of that door on your way in, it locked behind you," I 
said.  "There's no other door.  The windows are all 
shatterproof, so the only way out is the way you came in.  
I've already wired $1,000 in cash to you.  Upstairs, in a 
unlocked cabinet, there is $10,000 in cash, along with the key 
to the front door.  If you can carry it out, you get to keep 
it.  I, of course, must try to stop you."
	April nodded.  "And either side can call for a one-hour 
truce, on the condition that they must be the other's slave 
for that hour," she confirmed.  "But slaves are not required 
to do anything a reasonable person would construe as 
guaranteeing or precluding our escape."
	"And the game ends either when you're outside the house 
or one side concedes to the other," I said.  "And I also 
remind you that even when you lose, you will be paid a portion 
of the $10,000, the size of which is at my discretion, based 
on how much you pleased me.  Of course, let me emphasize, this 
is meant as a contest of physical strength, two women versus 
one man.  In that respect, no eye-gouging or scratching is 
allowed.  And of course, weapons by either side is grounds for 
immediate forfeit."
	April smiled again, and stood up with her arms 
seductively above her head.  "Do you want to frisk me?" she 
said playfully, almost willing her breasts to bounce slightly.
	I laughed.  "No need," I said.  "The archway outside is 
actually an X-ray machine and metal detector.  You had nothing 
on you except that canned food in your valise." 
	Now her companion smiled- for the first time.  She 
patted the valise like a cat.
	"So with that," I said, "I guess we'll start when the 
bell sounds, in five minutes.  Now traditionally, I like to 
start the game without any surprises, so I invite you both to 
play a pre-game warm up of what I call, 'Show Me What You've 
Got'."
	"Goody!" April said, running her hands beneath her bosom
	I began to unbutton my shirt.  "You may want to get  
alittle more comfortable, Miss-"
	The brunette did not budge.  She may have smirked.  "I 
can get comfortable very quickly, lover boy," she said, 
throwing me a kiss.
	Cute.  I tossed the dress shirt, leaving me in just my 
BVD T.  I stretched my arms a bit, making sure they saw they 
did not seem well-muscled.  "Just this way," I said, moving to 
the back room.
	The back I had converted to a very small gym.  There was 
not much room, so all there was was free weights, a bench, a 
mat, and a chin-up bar.  I had left the twenty-pound dumbbells 
out, and the bench barbell had about eighty.  "Since we may be 
spending a lot of- personal time together," I said, "the 
foundation of every relationship is trust.  So, we're just 
going to show each other how strong we really are, before the 
fists fly."
	"Oh!" April exclaimed.  "The stuff is so old!  It's like 
a fitness garage sale."
	"Well, whichever of you wants to go first."
	April bit her nail.  "I don't usually work with stuff 
this heavy.  I have some vinyl dumbbells at home.  I can do 
eight pounds!"
	I laughed warmly.  "Why don't you try these tens," I 
said, taking the steel plates from the rack.  "Alternating 
curls.  I'll do the twenties, my normal.  Miss?"
	The brunette blew some air out in disgust.  "I'll take 
what you're benching over there.  Though it looks a bit 
light."
	I feigned a look of worry.  "Oh?  Well, you can add more 
weight if you want.  The plates are right there."
	She sat down on the bench, stretching her arms a bit, 
still not removing her sweater.  "Nah, like you said, this is 
show me what you got.  Let's feel what you can lift." 
	"OK, then.  Ready, April?"
	Giggling, April started curling, and I did too.  I could 
tell that she was not lying- the weight was a bit heavy for 
her.  Still, she must have had experience, because she was 
grimacing to keep proper form, and not add any swingin motion 
to her work.  I did my reps consciously sloppy, enough to show 
I could handle the weight, but not contracting at the top of 
the movement.  "Ooooh, you're strong," April said, smiling.  I 
laughed internally at her act.
	I snuck a look at the brunette, and as I suspected, she 
was having no trouble with the weight.  She was exaggerating 
her breathing to draw my attention, but still doing the reps 
clean and perfect.  Suddenly I heard April yelp.  "Can you 
help me get one more?" she asked me.
	"Sure," I said, putting down the weight.  I went behind 
her and grabbed her wrist, also giving her arm a quick 
squeeze.  Her arm was, no surprise, nicely toned, but not 
muscular.  "Say, you've got some meat!" I lied in mock 
surprise.  She laughed and thanked me.  I pushed her to do two 
more on each arm, intentionally accidentally brushing against 
her chest, which she flashed a grin at.  Behind me, alomst 
purposely quietly, the brunette moved to the chin-up bar.  
"You know, April,"  I told her as she rubbed her bicep.  "You 
sell yourself short.  I'll bet you could have done a few reps 
at 20."
	"Oh, no," April said good-naturedly.  "You're trying to 
injure me before the game!"
	"Pshaw," I said.  "You're stronger than you think.  Come 
to the bench, let's arm wrestle."
	April squealed in delight, and kneeled by the bench.  
"On my knees already!" she joked.  She put her little arm up.  
I matched her, and met her with just enough strength to let 
her push me back slowly.  April laughed again.  "Don't play 
with me!" she pouted.  "Show me what you got!  It's the 
rules!"
	I protested, but reluctantly, gently, pushed my arm back 
to vertical and then hers to the bench.  It wasn't hard.  She 
screamed joyfully, rolled on the floor.  Show me what you got, 
she laughed.  She rolled up her leotard sleeve, and flexed her 
pathetic arm.  I expected a little pea to pop up that I could 
squish.
	Suddenly the brunette put her arm on the bench.  "Show 
me what you got," she hissed seductively.
	This was the moment of truth, the reason for the 
preview.  Looking a little nervous, I returned to bench, 
lamely protesting about using the same arm twice.  "I just 
finished 20 chin-ups, using both of mine," she snorted, 
changing arms anyway.   I met her arm, met her gaze.  This was 
the serious one.  She wanted to show me up.  Good.  The 
contest began.
	It was like pushing a small tractor.  No question, the 
woman had a right to be cocky.  She waited for me to make the 
first move, not wanting to hear me claim she snuck in a quick 
win.  Our arms were still in the center, perhaps I had a 
slight advantage.  I looked over to her arm, still covered by 
her sweater.  She noticed, and grinned.  "Oh, you want to see 
beneath the hood?"   she taunted.  "Well there's an admission 
charge, bucko.  Yeah, your arm doesn't look like much.  But 
you haven't barely pumped it, have you?"
	She was right, of course.  Due to my genetics, I had 
great strength in a pretty small muscle, and it took a lot to 
get it to show.  20 lb dumbbells wouldn't do it.  My normal 
workout using 50 lb dumbbells generally did.  "Show me what 
you got, hustler," she whispered, puckering her lips, making 
her move.  The tractor started moving slowly forward.  "I'll 
take you places you never been if you show me what you got."
	OK.  Game time over.  I concentrated, and stopped her 
arm at 30 degrees.  "Fair enough," I grunted.  She took a look 
at my working arm.  Now it was there- my round, rock-hard 16" 
bicep.  OK, OK, that doesn't sound like much, but the 
difference between the arm when tensed and untensed is 
shocking.  The head pops out at least three inches, and the 
peak is clear and striking.  "Maybe I should get it tattooed, 
huh?" I said, grunting, starting to force her arm back up.  
"Some words?  'The Real Deal'?  I've always thought that 
described them, sweety.  How about you?"
	She seemed pleased at my revelation, and at my strength.  
"Oh, it's the real deal, loverboy," she said, licking her 
lips.  "I can feel it."  She tilted her head, and seemed to go 
somewhere else when my arm started going past the vertical.  
"Oh, April," she moaned.  "My sweater has a loose strand.  
Could you," she met my eyes again, "pull it?"
	April, who had left the room to get the valise, walked 
up behind her.  Gently, carefully, her hand approached our 
shuddering arms, mine glistening with sweat, hers in the pink 
sweater.  With precision, April picked a thread from the 
forearm side of the brunette, and pulled.
	The thread came all the way up the arm of the sweater, 
and pulled it off.  Her sweaty arm lay tan and bare before me.  
As I suspected.   An athlete's arm.  A sprinter's arm.  Not 
quite bodybuilder level, but no doubt an arm any man would be 
proud to have.  "And I'll show you mine," she muttered, and 
made another move.
	Her strength was impressive, but I was ready for her.  I 
met her, I pushed her back, I pinned her arm down, twisting 
her wrist.  Hard.  She yelped in pain, and fell to the floor, 
shaking her wrist.  April went down to comfort her.
	The bell sounded.   
	I expanded my chest, and took a step towards them.  They 
reflexively cringed a bit.  I laughed, deeply, confidently, 
towering over them.   I hammed it up.  I beat my chest.  I 
flexed my right arm, hard, like a vise, willing the peak even 
higher than before.  I think it was at seventeen inches now.  
My arm looked like someone had chiseled me out of marble, the 
veins clear and powerful.  The bicep looked as big as a 
softball.  I admired it, watched them stare at it, then held 
it as turned my gaze to my left arm, raised it, and flexed 
with the same ferocity.  "Most women give up after being 
slaves for three hours," I said, still admiring that arm.  
"Before I start breaking bones.   While they still have an 
unblackened eye between them."  I threw a jab like a lightning 
bolt to the right eye of  the prone brunette, who yelped in 
pain but could do nothing.  April brought her hands to her 
mouth, shocked by this "dirty pool". "There's only room for 
one great fighter in this room," I said.  "And that's me."
	April clenched her fist.  "Sez you!"
	She went into the valise, and lifted something out of 
it, holding it up for me to see.
	It was economy-size, two-lb can of spinach.  That's all 
the can said, in big capital letters: SPINACH.  April grabbed 
an old fashioned can opener, and thrust it into the can.
	"Da, da-da-da-da, da da!" April sang to me, as she 
opened up the can.
	"Da da da-da-da, da da!" April said, as she flipped the 
can top up.
	"Da-da da da da-da, da da da da da da," the brunette 
sang with her black eye and moist, pouty lips as she plunged 
her hand into the can, withdrawing a huge, dripping handful.
	"Da da da da da, da DA!" said April as she took the can 
and did the same.
	Now the two looked into each other's eyes, hungrily, and 
began to feed each other.
	It was sensual to watch.  They each took turns holding 
their mouths open, their heads back, as their parnter dripped 
gargantuan portions of spinach into their open jaws.  It 
seemed more than their mouths could take, but they moaned in 
pleasure as their partner lowered it all down, and they nodded 
and swallowed.  They licked their hands afterwards, and the 
brunette drank the juice from the can.
	As the brunette finished up, April pressed something in 
the valise.  There must have been a boom box inside, because 
strains of the Phillip Sousa march, "Stars and Stripes 
Forever", started filling the room.  April winked, and 
extended the back of her arm to me.  One lusciously manicured 
finger at a time, she clenched her fist, and slowly flexed.  
It was like nothing I had ever seen before.  From nothing, 
from the same absolute nothing that was her arm a minute ago, 
with just the slightest move of her wrist, a bicep was rising.  
Rising hell, it was forming like a continent.  "Oooooh," she 
moaned as she flexed, watching it grow.  "Oooh!" as it grew 
some more.  With her arm at thirty degrees her bicep had to be 
two inches above her arm.  She lowered her arm back down a 
bit, then pumped it up to forty five degrees.  Pop!  I almost 
heard the air displaced!  That bicep jumped up to three inches 
above her slender little arm!  And outward too!  It was as if 
it were trying to escape her skin!  Her arm was rippling, 
pulsating, and she just smiled at me, lowered the arm a little 
bit, then tensed it all the way up.
	I had to blink.  This was not possible.  I could have 
sworn the bicep actually popped up six inches before it 
settled back down to its resting state.  Even then- no!  This 
was not the same woman who came in the door!  I approached 
that flexed arm, gaping.  April smiled.  "Like what you see?"  
she said.  "Touch it."
	I was scared to.  But I grabbed her arm, which she held 
tight in the classic flex position.  I took it first from 
beneath.  I tried squeezing her biceps by the sides.  I may as 
well have tried to squeeze a bowling ball.  Not even her skin 
gave way.  Then I moved to the peak.  It was beautiful, 
standing almost separate and distinct form the bicep itself, 
making it not round, but a hill.  It defied human physiology- 
the bicep had to be eighteen inches around.  I touched the 
top- it was hot and hard.  I pressed into it as hard as I 
could, leaning over to get a better look  April giggled, 
relaxed a bit to allow my hand to sink in, then at a crescendo 
in the Sousa, said, "Take that!"  and viciously tensed the 
muscle.  My hand flew like a rocket off her muscle and against 
my eye, knocking me to the floor.
	"Yeah," she said, taking a fighting stance.  "Pick on 
someone your own size."
	"Oh, loverboy!" the brunette called. "Care to feel my 
muscle?"
	The brunette stood laxly, indifferent to her black eye, 
and raised her arm to flex.  She did so in one quick motion, 
and her bicep shot up out of sight like the space shuttle, 
piercing the ceiling with a horrible crunch.  She quickly 
unflexed and the muscle returned, then she did it again to 
poke another hole somewhere else, then a third.  She picked up 
a 25-lb steel plate, and grimacing, held it out in front of 
her at arms length, slowly bending it in half.  It broke with 
a crack when her muscle was too much for it.
	I now realized they were both between me and the door.  
"Stars and Stripes Forever" was becoming a very scary tune.  
The brunette stepped forward, chin out.  "Care to try that 
sucker punch again, hustler?" she said.
	She didn't even finish by the time my right hook hit 
her.  That punch was my secret stick of dynamite, getting me 
out of more jams than I'd care recall.  It hits with the force 
of a baseball bat, and has caused 300 lb men to collapse into 
jelly.  This time, though, her chin was the baseball bat.  It 
was like punching a steel support girder.  I could swear she 
even moved her chin into the punch.  I heard bones crack and 
they weren't hers.  I grabbed my wrist and howled in pain.
	"I'd better not invite you to try the stomach then, 
lover," the brunette said, lifting her top.  "I wouldn't want 
to break the other hand, too."  She tensed her abs, and I went 
sick.  They were more layered than a suit of armor, and 
probably twice as hard.
	The brunette turned to April.  "How do you want to take 
him, girlfriend?" she asked.
	April considered.  She watched me skirting looks between 
them, the door, the calculations racing in my mind of how to 
get out of there.  Finally she decided.  "Let me take him," 
she said.  "I've never beaten a man all by myself before."
	"Always needed back-up?" I said reflexively, scared to 
death.
	The brunette laughed.  "Honey, don't you get on my bad 
side.  I hurt you without throwing a punch.  You don't want to 
see what I can do."
	"Oh, but April wants to see what she can do," I said, 
thinking.  "And what's my incentive for fighting back if 
you're just going to mop up?  Give me a deal.  Me and April, 
no interference, to the first submission.  April submits, 
that's it.  It's over.  You can even keep the money.  But you 
don't touch me."
	The brunette looked at April, considering.  "And April 
wins, we get to play?"
	No way in hell.  "Yeah," I said.  "Sure.  Like I got a 
choice?  Sure."
	The two exchanged glances.  The brunette was against it, 
but asked, "Is this what you want, A?"
	April thought so.  "It's more of a chance than he ever 
gave anyone," she almost spat, "and that's what makes it even 
better.  If we win this way, he's finished.  He has no 
excuses."
	"Other than your steroid abuse," I offered.
	April laughed, and took a step toward me.  "You think we 
get muscle like this from drugs?" she asked.  "No way, 
sweetie.  Muscle this hard, this hot, comes from hatred.  
Hatred of what you do.  Hatred of who you are.  And the dream 
to make you hurt just as much as-"
	"Your sister," I finished, quickly hurtling my fist to 
her stomach.  April was green, no doubt, slightly off guard, 
but she reacted and deflected the blow slightly.  Good thing 
for her, or her kidney might have been  splattered all over 
her insides.  She wheezed, but recovered in time to dodge my 
uppercut. 
	"You knew?' she said venomously, punching my side and 
knocking me off balance.
	"What, you think I lock myself into deathmatches without 
researching my opponents?" I said, ducking her sudden jab.  
"No ma'am."  I faked to her stomach then jabbed her head with 
a left and danced back.   "I know your real name is April 
Showers, I know you've been trying to find me for the last two 
years, and I know it's because you think I killed your 
sister." 
	I backtracked the minute I said the word "sister", 
avoiding an emotional roundhouse that moved like a bullet.  
Good lord, I thought, smartly cuffing her ear as she passed, 
that could have punched a hole right through my head!  Where 
did she get this muscle?  "I didn't, you know."
	I moved to put her in a clench, trying to frustrate her.  
I breathed deep of her sweat, her hot moist body against mine.  
"Mm, you smell nice," I whispered in her ear.  
A strategic error on my part, I now concede.  April grit her 
teeth and pushed me against a wall, pouncing with the 
swiftness of a cat.   Her bare right flew into my stomach, 
doubling me over, and in what must have been a hallucination 
of terror, I saw her left fist transform itself into a lit 
bottle rocket, which shot up and across my chin like tissue 
paper.   Five minutes ago this girl couldn't carry me on her 
back, now the force of her punch actually took me off the 
floor and into the air- a short distance, but thank god for 
it, because I rolled with the momentum, and was no longer 
trapped against the wall.  I reflexively got to my feet, 
woozy.  "And you punch better," I babbled.
I ducked as she turned to pile on.  Thank god for my 
instincts.  I was able to dodge and partially block most of 
her blows.  Man, if you've never fought without gloves, even 
blocked blows hurt like hell.  "Tired yet?" I asked.
"You talk too much," April snarled, trying to penetrate my 
defense, trying to get some good force into my mouth.  She was 
letting her guard down.  Picking my moment, I got a wicked 
right cross to her jaw that turned her head around.  April 
grunted, and April fell.
I heard the brunette take a step towards me and I jumped.  
"Don't move!" I said facing her from a safe distance.  "We 
have a deal!"
The brunette did not seemed pleased with this.  Thank god, she 
moved to April, not me.  April was not out, but wasn't exactly 
in, either.  "Darling?" the brunette said, moving April's face 
to meet hers.  The blonde fluttered her eyes, and gave a 
groggy smile.  "He's got a wicked left," she said.  "But not 
as wicked as his mind."  She laughed, barely audibly through 
her cracked jaw.  Her head then seemed to collapse.
It was time to start working on a graceful exit.  I quickly 
made sure the amazons were not between me and the door.  "Is 
she alright?" I pretended to care.
"She'll live," the brunette spat, standing. 
"Thank god.  Look, obviously nothing I say is going to matter 
a whole hell of a lot to either of you.  For the record, 
though, I did fight Sunny Showers in this house two years ago.  
And I am- jeez, sorry isn't even strong enough here.  I 
mourned her death.  She was a tenacious fighter.  She refused 
to concede, wouldn't even take a slave breather after I'd 
knocked her out a fourth time.  I respected that.  That's why 
I told her to take half the money and leave.  I couldn't 
possibly have known about the brain hemhorrage."
"No," the brunette said, twisting her fist in her hand.  "You 
couldn't have known."
I was in front of the door now.  I kept my eye on her, and 
exhaled quietly.  "All right then," I said, turning to leave.
"Ding," I heard April say groggily from the floor.
I stopped for a moment.  I didn't really have much compassion, 
you understand, but I'm not heartless.   I took a step back 
towards her.  "Are you sure she's OK?"
"Ding," April said, struggling to get back to her feet.  
"Second round.  Ding."
I sighed and shook my head.  "I'd better get a doctor," I 
said, moving to the phone.
The brunette seemed to brighten a bit.  "Do me the favor of 
not leaving the room, sweetie," she said smartly.  "Unless 
you'd like to forfeit your match."
"What match?" I burst out.  "She's out.  She was out for more 
than ten."
"You set the rules, loverboy.  You said to the first 
submission.  And it looks to me like April hasn't submitted."
April was on her feet now, shaking her head between her knees.  
This was ridiculous.  But I was aware enough not to say, "I'm 
not fighting her," giving no sign of the submission that would 
doom my body to the mercies of the brunette.  I tried another 
tack.  I beckoned the brunette away from April for a moment.  
"This isn't right," I whispered.  "Look, mission accomplished, 
OK?  I don't know how your spinach trick works-"
"And you never will," the brunette said.
"-but you have accomplished your goal.  You scared me 
shitless.  I went from fighting one girl to two because I'd 
never had any challenge from a lone woman.  Now you have shown 
me I can get hurt, badly hurt, and I guarantee you I am 
closing up shop after tonight.  But what about April?  You 
care for her, hell that's obvious or you wouldn't be here.  
But clearly you and her are at different levels.  She is now 
hurt, and if she fights me more she's going to get hurt worse, 
because now you've made it so I can't knock her out.  I have 
to force her to submit, and if she's as stubborn as she seems 
that's going to mean pain.  Hard, agonizing pain."
"You think I don't know pain?"
I turned, and April slapped me across the face with the back 
of her hand.
"You, BASTARD!" she screamed, clenching the slapping hand and 
snapping that rock-hard fist into my left eye.  I saw my view 
of April- blonde, battered, and defiant- flash, as if lit by a 
strobe light.  My knees buckled.  She grunted, and shot the 
other fist to my right eye.  A second flash of light.  The 
room seemed tinged with red.  My body went with the momentum 
of the punch, and I fell to my butt.
"Whoa," I said.
April took one step towards me, looking down at my woozy head, 
and breathed heavily.  Suddenly, she growled, clamped her foot 
down on my ankles, brought her right fist into her back ever 
so slightly, then let fly, saying the word, "WHAM!"  
The uppercut snapped my head into the floor with the force of 
a whip.  I heard the wood crack behind it.  
 April walked around, listening to my moans.  When she was 
sure I was conscious, she slowly, deliberately, sat on my 
chest, facing me.  When she was sure I was cognicent enough to 
have her attention, she sneered at me.
"You couldn't have known," April hissed.  "How could you 
possibly know that sitting on top of sister, and hitting her 
like THIS-"
She snapped a right across my chin.
	"-or THIS-"
She snapped a left
	"or THIS-"
She snapped a right.
	"or THIS-"
She snapped a left
She continued this for I don't how long.  My jaw broke with 
the first punch, I think, but there was no doubt that with 
each blow, new bones were breaking.  My mouth was being 
jellyfied.  When she tired of that, she raised the right and 
pounded it like a jackhammer to my teeth, up, down, up, down, 
the speed was blinding.  And the pain was unbearable.  Teeth, 
one of the hardest bones in the body, broke like candy canes.  
My helpless eye went to her arms, bicep swelling on the 
upswing, triceps jolting into hard, defined relief when the 
pain came.  I must have hallucinated from the pain, I saw a 
picture of a powerful piston engine appear on her arm, 
exploding down with each punch.
Thirty-two punches later, I was an old man, toothless, 
bleeding, crying.  April stopped.  She was breathing as hard 
as a dog in heat.  "Spit 'em out!" she barked.
Weakly, I turned my head, and- well I couldn't open my mouth, 
the jaw was gone.  Sobbing, I shook my head and tried to get 
the teeth to fall out of my mouth.
"On, your, FEET!" she commanded, stomping my toes.  On the 
strength of her stomp, and her voice, I snapped off the floor.  
But I wasn't alert.  My eyes were swollen.  My head, my whole 
body was slumping.  April lifted my chin with her finger, and 
looked intently into my eyes.
 "When I concentrate," April said, almost chanting, "I can 
make myself stronger.  Popette," she said giving a name to the 
brunette, "she showed me the secret.  Popeye, he was strong to 
the finish when he ate his spinach.  Because he had purpose.  
You, scum, you're my purpose."  She looked at her arm a 
second, tensed it, almost chuckling.  She seemed to remember 
something, a scene from a cartoon perhaps, and she held her 
arm out straight, with her hand flat. Suddenly, she started 
whistling, in a high pitch, that pipe song that you always 
here with the fife and drummer, and flexed her fingers.  I 
couldn't believe it.  A small, bulging muscle actually 
appeared on her finger.  She beckoned with her finger, and the 
small, bulging muscle began to travel through her palm, up her 
arm.  Quickly she flexed her finger again, creating a second 
muscle, having that follow the first.  Soon an army of the 
things were marching "ATT-EEEEN, HUT!"
Every one of the little muscles stopped milling about, and 
popped right up to attention, lifting themselves higher and 
harder, ready for action.  April grinned.  She clenched her 
fist hard, grunted, and flexed.  The hundreds of tiny muscles 
melded together into a seemless, horrifying powerful bicep 
muscle.  She then reared the fist back, and layed one on my 
nose.
It's for the best I blacked out on contact.  It was bad enough 
when I woke up face-down amidst the rubble of the wall in the 
next room.  My head was on fire.  My body was a numb, 
unidentifiable mass of pain.  I couldn't move, not one inch.  
Somone's foot was on my back, and they were pulling my right 
arm up. 
"Wonder if I could pull it off," I heard April say.  She 
yanked.
If there were any strength, or air in my lungs, I would have 
screamed.  Tendons were tearing, my arm popped out of its 
socket.
"Do you think he'll concede?" April asked.  "I can twist it."      
"no!"  Somehow a horse whisper got out of my mouth. 
April paused, and gave another yank.  "Do you concede?"
"yes," I cried softly. 
"Ask me nicely!"
"please."
"Who's strongest?"
"you," I sobbed.  "you."
April paused, and let go of my arm with one hand, holding it 
by the fingers with the other.  I heard a firm step, and a 
firmer grip suddenly took hold of it, and flipped me over.
"Now, I wouldn't say that!" a menacingly grinning Popette 
said.  She took my arm in two hands, and wrung it like a dish 
towel.  Pain and horror washed me away, the sound of the 
snapping bone echoing in my head as I blacked out for the last 
time.
How long I slept I don't know.  Bits of my conscience did 
return, fleetingly.  I felt a cast around my body, a bed 
beneath it.  The beep, beep, beep of a heart monitor.   
Mercifully constant medication. 
One day, I opened my eyes to find an older woman in a white 
coat checking my charts.  I tried to speak, and groaned.
"Don't," the doctor said, moving to my drip bag and taking a 
note.  "Save your strength."
"How. long..."
"Two weeks since they pulled you out of that car on Route 82.  
That was quite a drop into that ravine, Mr. Furbis.  You're 
very lucky to be alive."
Car?  Ravine?  My memory was hazy.  Did I dream?  Was that 
what.? "My. arm."
The doctor paused.  "We got you to the operating theater as 
quickly as we could.  The damage to your arm was. 
catastrophic.  We could not save it."
 My head was clamped to prevent my neck from moving, but as 
she said it I knew it was true.  I could feel nothing by my 
right shoulder, nothing connected.  The doctor continued.  "We 
believe you may have tried to get out of the car as it fell, 
and the door caught your arm, tearing it off of your shoulder.  
Of course, that doesn't explain."
The doctor stopped, seeming puzzled, almost fearful.  "The 
car," she said, "was found in an odd position relative to the 
road, twisted ninety degrees.  It was almost as if you didn't 
drive off, but."
The beeping of the monitor pulsed like an alarm.  The doctor 
removed her glasses.  "Almost as if someone put you in the 
car, lifted it up, and threw you off the cliff."
Although the doctor did jump on my chest, and saved my heart 
from flatlining, you will forgive me from occasionally giving 
a nervous glance out my darkened window and wishing she hadn't 
bothered.