The One Legged Man.

He was not the best judge.

Looking around he realized that he was in fact, the only one available.

This was not a one time thing. He was the judge, the referee for most of the fights. He turned back, tried to see if there was someone he could appoint in the place of his. But then, he had known the answer well before he had turned back.

No one seemed to notice that he was a fighter himself. One of the best his era had ever seen. No one seemed to notice his powerfully built body. His flattened, thickened ears. His broken nose or even the missing incisors. For the whole batch, he was just the one legged man. Someone who hopped around and made himself useful by being the referee. Despite of the lack of respect for his own fighting skills, the respect for him as a referee was immense. For his voice was that of the kings. Majestic and strong. His eyes, they shone of justice. He was a man of justice and honesty in the eyes of the young lot. He was, The Judge.

But this time around, the situation was altered a bit. He didn't want to be The Judge. For one, he was tired; and then, the fight was no ordinary fight. This one was between the ones he called The Wolf and The Onion. Two of his favorites. The Wolf, the aggressive, the strongly built one. He must have been around 18 or 19. He looked an experienced fighter. A strong, dangerous one. Onion, he was the short stocky fellow who made others cry. He was a tough guy to the core. When he landed the punches, he meant it. His batchmates feared him. They knew he was destined for glory. For The Judge, they were two young kids who knew their weaknesses and strengths. They in someways reminded him of his own youth. He was a strong guy who fought his heart out. He was destined for glory, he had achieved it, almost.

A guy from the sidelines shouted for the match to begin. They were getting impatient. They were staring at him. The Judge. He had to start the fight. He adjusted the crutches, raised his right hand, "Fight".