I can feel it even in my hair, in my teeth, in my nails. My bones, my skin, my muscles shiver, tremble. Is it the dark blue eyes, the short grayish hair, the contracted eyebrows or the square chin? Even a look made me surrender, my eyes are fixed on the ground although they should not. I am ready to get struck again. The air is heavy and everyone is smothering, or is it just me? I feel a pressure, a heavy weight, keeping me from moving like I want to. The sound of his steps is getting louder and clearer and I tighten my teeth, as If I was biting air. Here we go, left, right, right, touché, the red light shines, maybe I got my opponent, NO! my heart jumps, NO! I hear, I stepped behind the white line. I am thinking this never happens to me, when he is not around. As he lectures me, moving his arms as if he wanted to impale me, I stand still, looking at his scar, it covers half of this right cheek. I am hypnotized by it and concentrating on it is helping me to not look at his face and not hear his voice, that would make me feel uneasy and dizzy. He was very strict and would always carefully choose our sabers, always check on our uniforms, make us practice until we were fainting. He sometimes showed us some moves but most of the time he was just walking around, or on the phone, or lecturing people. I admired the power he had on each one of us even if he did noting, no one would dare disobey, and me the last. When we were finished a lot of people stayed to chat and I was annoyed by their kindness to him, offering towels, drinks, food. I would always go first,part with a general wave. On the way home, I would always regret that. I wish I had control of me whenever he is around. Strangely enough, what I felt for Phillipe was a feeling very similar but very opposed to love. It was hate, I hated him with all my heart. The main difference is that instead of dropping love letters in his mailbox, I used to drop rotten apples, and that I wish I could have thrown a punch at