Game.Set.Match.Isner.

John Isner watched as the slick paint on the wet baseline caused the hard rubber outsole of his opponents Nikes to slip and propel all of his weight forward. The player fell, the skin on his knees peeled in tiny bits as he skidded across the ground. The young man rose up from his tumble and began to get ready for Isner’s next serve. John however no longer seemed interested in the game. All of his attention was on the river of ruby pain that ran from the fresh open wounds. He reached up with his left hand and rubbed the still stinging fang marks, trying to soothe the pain that gave him all of his abilities. Before last night, before he was attacked on these same courts he would have lost horribly to his now beaten down advisory. Match point, 6-0 6-0, a double bagel was in his reach. He was only a bit faster, only a bit stronger, but unlike most vampires he had a unique gift. He could tap into his adrenaline, he could speed up his mind and body so that everything around him moved slower. His eyes could follow the ball, watch it move slower on the toss of the serve, the return, and even allowed him return sure winners. 6-0 6-0, a perfect game, a perfect game that would never be finished.

         “I’m fine John, its just a flesh wound.” Said the player, noticing the long stare he was receiving.

         “Let me take a look,” John said hopping over the net to take a look.

         “No really it’s fi…” the words were cut off as John swung his Prince racket into the side of the head of his opponent. The man fell onto the hard surface and John pounced on him. He sank his newly formed fangs into the neck of the unconscious form and slowly drained the blood from the still beating heart.