“Come on so, you fat bastard!” I yelled, and he was a fat
bastard. Hog-beast fat, with a triple-ring neck. Ok, he was bigger than me, but
I was fit. He didn’t stand a chance. Particularly seeing as there were four of
us, and only one of him. There were hands on me, my friends’ hands, stopping me
from doing too much damage. The stupid thing was he could have avoided it all. All
he had to do was apologise for knocking into me, and spilling my beer...then
buying another of course.
“You total knob!” he said, and gave me the finger. I
couldn't believe the gall of him, after all, I was the one who had been
wronged. I started to struggle in earnest. Before, I might have been saying Let
me go, while thinking, hold me back, but now I
wanted at him for real. Its hard to describe how I felt; I was shaking, and I
was buzzing with excitement. Everything was heightened, my body seemed to be
swelling up on adrenaline and anger. I'd never felt anything like it. It was...I
was...awesome.
“At least I’ve seen mine recently,” I sneered, and looked
down my nose at him.
“What did you say?” he demanded.
“You heard me, Shamu.” That one really got him. He reared
back, his jaw trying to grind his teeth to dust.
“Fuck you,” the big ape roared, then hocked a ball of spit
right in my face. I was frozen for a second. I couldn’t believe it. Then
the red mist descended. I slipped through my friends’ fingers and launched what
could only be described as a majestic punch. I had every ounce of my strength
behind it and I swear it actually whistled as it cut through the air. I threw
myself into battle with a roar William Wallace would have been proud of. This was
going to be as easy as hitting a barn door.
But then the door moved. Really really quickly as it
happened. My hand was still arching toward him when I felt his knuckles connect
with the tip of my chin. Things moved so quickly, they seemed to happen at
once. His pudgy fingers were surprisingly solid on the underside of my jaw,
jackhammering my teeth together. I was lucky not to have my tongue amputated.
The bones in my legs seemed to dissolve and the power of my punch dragged me
forward. His next blow found the end of my nose, and after that...well...let’s
leave it there.
My mates dragged me to safety, apologising to Shamu as they
went. So, here I am, sitting outside a chipper with a blood-stained shirt
and a sore nose. My mates are simultaneously concerned for me and angry at me.
I don’t want to talk about it, because honestly, I thought it would have gone
differently. I know you might expect me to feel shaken, or frightened, or
ashamed; and I do...a little. But that was my first ever fight and I survived.
I’d taken a punch…a real one, and I was still ticking. I guess like all normal
people, I was trained to avoid violence; fed stories of one-punch killings
and lives spent behind bars. But that was behind me now. The shackles of fear
have been cast from my wrists.
As my friends yakked, I sat and rubbed my nose. They gave
me guarded looks, wondering what was going on in my brain. I think they would
have been surprised to find; I was looking forward to the next fat bastard
who dared spit in my face.
