Being A Sumo

I am a Japanese female sumo. My opposition is a Japanese male sumo. Strange enough neither of us is fat. I have four disciples - four young men. They go wherever I go, and protect me if necessary.

I come across my opposition all the time. However, I always try to avoid him, as according to the ritual: whenever we come across each other, we must have a fight. Yet he is the No. 1 sumo of the time! It seems it’s always me who spot him first, whether it’s on the street or in a Tea House. In these occasions my disciples would automatically form some kind of ‘fortress’ to hide me from his view.

Twenty years later, I am finally ready and is not afraid of him any more. Not only have I trained myself well to be a First Class sumo, over the years my opposition has become complacent and lost his guard and ambition.

My disciples and I are on our way to a Japanese Tea House and we are walking along a labyrinth outside the Tea House where we come across my opposition. He doesn’t look half as good as before and certainly has some signs of aging. He looks old, saggy and lonely - a totally different person from twenty years ago when he was an arrogant yet competitive young sumo.