The Glory of Steve

Steve thrust his sword high into the sky, his forehead sweating, his mouth tight.

This was it. This was his moment.

The watermelon before him would be cleaved in two with one mighty stroke, spilling its red water-blood and black seeds all over the picnic table.

His children watched in awe and terror as the stroke fell.

Steve bellowed at the top of his lungs as the blade embedded in the wood, and he whipped his head about as pulp chunks and rind burst across his face.

The parents of the other members of the soccer team slowly got up from their benches, shielding their sons and daughters with their arms, backing slowly towards the parking lot as they fished car keys out of pockets and purses.

His daughter tugged at his wife's skirt hem, eyes wide, breathing shallow.

Steve thrust his fingers into the watermelon half and shoved a fistfull into his own mouth before flinging another chunk at one of the retreating parents.

"You see what I'm about?" Steve roared. "You see where I'm taking this?"

A woman cried out.

A dog barked through an open car window from the backseat.

A grown man hid behind a trashcan, peeking around the corner.

Steve finally felt like the man he knew he was always meant to be.

THE END