The Prophet
#1 of The Prophet
The reason a meerkat is called "The Prophet".
Slipping, slowing down into the ocean of the mind. Keeping a calm mind was necessary, but what was needed more was a sharp one that dared to cut through the chaos and see the root cracks within the stone wall before them. A young meerkat dares to be the chisel, the instrument in which the coach can fashion into a battering ram to deconstruct the blockade. Daringly he approaches that yet to be penetrated defense, slowly pacing to his own rhythm, a beat to match the one in his chest.
Just like breathing, the ball moved with his chest, the sound echoing like the thudding of his blood. If he didn't stay cool he'd be reckless and lose all they had built upon, the ball movement, the excellent shooting, but with time winding down he had to take this moment into his own hands. It was his call, to be exact it was his team's call, yet for some reason he had the ball and their trust. If they were giving him the chance, by god he had to deliver.
The tiger lowered himself to the ground, eying a small piece of meat sauntering up to him, believing that his defense would save the game. It wasn't like they expected a skinny Freshman to come along and win that game. In fact, the team believed they'd go to a senior, one man tight on a feline in the corner, two others leaning closely to play defense one pass away. No one saw what the meerkat's teammates saw in him.
The light bounce turned heavy, the hand of the freshman slamming that ball harder into the court, a resounding effect within the defense. It shook the tiger for a moment, a startling noise to overload the senses, just before his man moved. The young man's body moved to the right without the ball, almost like his hand stayed with the ball in midair while the rest of him slanted in the direction, his arm outstretched to the left. Again, thunder erupted as the ball erupted like a gunshot against the hardwood, moving faster than most would dare try in practice, let alone a game.
The tiger stumbled, trying to shift his own way to chase after younger player, only to find that his legs were paralysed. Collapsing to the floor, the tiger watched as a fellow player rushed to stop the meerkat, believing that he had merely gotten lucky with that dribble. The ball crossed to his right paw, having driven to the right. Another slice of the ball, moving down through the boy's legs and back into the left paw. The additional defender chased, reaching in, finding not a ball but air, as the meerkat spun to the left avoiding the snatching claws.
Out of the spin came a rising star, a young man who was willing to take the shots that his team needed. His feet stopped just before the line, the spin halting at that black mark, erupting into the air from their power from planting. His eyes had never left the basket, and even when the tiger reached up after recovering from his fallen state, they did not part from that hoop. Neither did they hesitate when the additional man tossed his own hat into the ring, trying to block the shot. His jump did not end, he used all his strength to propel into the air above them all, his body twisting to get the shot off without being touched.
The buzzer rudely cut into the moment, exploding as the ball just left his hands, maybe half a second later he wouldn't have passed that deadline. Both defending hands slammed into his body, no whistle to declare a foul, the game played on in those dying seconds as the ball twirled in the air. It felt right, the crowd knew what happening, there was a reason he would soon develop the nickname that he would carry into his professional career. The Prophet was the hand of god, and when he was going to take the game into those hands, he was going to provide salvation to those who earned it.
Slamming back against the grown, head connecting to hardwood. It knocked out his sight, the occipital lobe of his brain concussed from the sudden collision. The first time he would hit a buzzer defying shot, he would not see it. For two days he would stay blind, his head concussed from a clear hard foul, and yet he didn't complain. He did not need to see the shot, for his hands had felt the goal before the ball had parted from them.
Nylon was filled with orange, red LEDs erupting on the backboard, as did the crowd. The small high school had just overcome the strongest with the strongest man. As he laid there in darkness, the meerkat merely smiled, having seen that moment in his head moments before he had set into motion, The Prophet having predicted the outcome before all others.