From Champion to Criminal
The moment the organizers realized the news had slipped through the microphone, they tried to calm the crowd and explain that it wasn’t true. They kept saying Shadow was not dead, but it was too late. The arena was already in chaos.
The chants of victory turned into accusations.
“Talia beat her to death!”
“Iron Fist killed Shadow!”
Within minutes, those watching the live match from home began posting that I had killed her. The news became world wide
The same fans who had sung my name only moments ago were now pointing fingers, their voices sharp with rage. Objects flew through the air bottles, cups, even shoes.
“She’s a killer!”
“Monster!”
“She was so eager to win she killed her!”
“She isn’t a fighter but a killer, a psychopath!”
All forms of harsh words were hurled at me. I stood on the same spot on the podium, my hands still stretched out like I wanted to accept the belt. I stood there, trying to digest the news that Shadow was dead.
The officials who were about to hand me the belt pulled back, as though touching me would stain them too. My name, once a song of triumph, was now twisted into a curse.
I didn’t feel like a champion. I felt like a criminal.
The stadium thundered with shouts, boos, and curses that drilled into my head until I thought my skull would crack. The sound swallowed me whole, made me stumble, made me wish I could vanish. Security stormed into the arena, forcing their way through the mob.
They helped me out under a rain of hatred fans throwing things as if each object carried their disgust. Some even tried to climb the podium and attack me, acting like they hadn’t been there when we were fighting and hadn’t seen that it was just normal fighting. By the time I made it out, my chest was tight and my vision blurred. The faces of the thousands pointing at me lingered in my memory their loud noise, their accusations. I fell to my knees, held onto my head, and trauma pressed down on me like a vice until I fainted.
By the time I woke up I was in a hospital
I opened my eyes and saw myself on a hospital bed. By my side, Coach Kofi was already asleep on a little chair beside me .
I picked up the remote and switched on the TV to look at the news, but the moment I turned it on the screen greeted me with a headline
“Boxer Eager for Achievement Fought and Killed Her Opponent.”
I quickly switched it off and reached for my phone. My official page was full of insults, even some of my fans were attacking me. My follower count dropped from two million to seven hundred thousand. My hands shook, but I held onto my phone. I braced myself and continued scrolling. Countless posts were made some saying they’d watched the live match and what they saw didn’t look like fighting but killing, some even claimed I smashed her chest because I was eager to win. Short videos from the match were recycled as “evidence.” My DMs flooded.
My phone kept ringing my mum and my brother but I didn’t pick up. I opened messages a few from family and loved ones, a few from fans assuring me it wasn’t my fault, and most from netizens dragging me, saying I had killed Shadow. I tried to calm myself, but I began imagining if it was truly my fault. I replayed the match in my head the way she fell, the blood from her mouth, the referee asking if she wanted to stop and her saying no. I told myself she had refused, but my head kept spinning . the blood, the fall, how she was wheeled out, and how the thousands pointed at me.
I screamed, gripping my head tightly their voices echoing in my head . I threw my phone and shouted, “I didn’t kill her!!!!!” My loud noise woke Coach Kofi, who blinked and quickly switched off every news feed. Two policemen standing at the door rushed in, and then everything blurred.
The next thing I knew, I woke up in a mental hospital.