So M’s out at the store, picking up some groceries, and I sit on the couch waiting for her to return, watching some football. I hear her car pull up in the driveway. I get up, shuffle over to the hallway and put on my shoes to help her bring the stuff in the house. What I hear next frightens me to death.
”Hey! What do you think you’re doing?! That’s my pur…”
All I hear next is M screaming for help. I bolt towards the front door, my heart in my throat, having no idea what I am going to encounter in our front yard. What I see drives me to act, without consideration for what might happen next.
You see, there are three men, what look to be boys really, standing in my driveway, surrounding M with her struggling mightily in the middle, fighting to hold on to her purse.
The smart thing to do would be to run back into the house, call the authorities. The smart thing never enters my mind as I see this happening, my rage building. I never say a thing, never give them any indication I am coming; I just leap off the porch and rush towards the man closest to me.
The first guy never sees me, his back is towards me, his hips swiveled in my direction. I plant my right foot and fire out with my left, like I’m trying to break the biggest piece of kindling that always gives you problems when you want to start a fire. I connect with his left knee, the one that appears to be bearing all his weight. The next thing I hear is the sound of a chicken leg, torn from the thigh, only a hundred times louder, wet and brittle. Then he starts to scream and fall away from my sight.
One of the things that my dad taught me about fighting when I was young: keep moving always keep moving. Standing still means you get hurt. So I move.
I step to the second guy, at M’s left shoulder, who’s busy pulling on her arm and shaking it. Yet he is curious, wondering why one of his partners is screaming at the top of his lungs and begins to turn his head my way. I punch him in the throat, as hard as I can. There is a strangled noise that he tries to voice and immediately his hands come off M and fly to his throat as he falls on his ass and begins to flop around on the sidewalk.
“Move, always stay moving,” my dad’s voice echoes in my head.
There’s only one man left, I can not see him since he is on the other side of M, her body blocking my view. I take both my hands and grab her around the waist, pulling her with all my strength towards me.
“Run!” I yell, “Run! Call 911 and don’t look back!” I push her towards the front door, willing her to run as fast as she can and get away from all this. I turn quickly back to the last man, stepping to block his view of the hopefully retreating M. That is when I see it, the knife in his hand, both covered in blood.
For the first time I feel a sense of anger, of rage actually. That someone would dare come to our home and inflict this violence on the woman that I love. I do not look up, do not care what he looks like, the only thing that I can focus on is the knife, covered in M's blood. Like a stranger, I feel my fists bunch at my sides, my stomach tighten up and the adrenaline dump into my body like a river flood.
Finally I look into the face of this intruder, see a young man, face contorted in a mask of fear and bewilderment. No longer the aggressor and in control, he sizes me up, squinting while running the math in his head...stay or run?
"I'm going to kill you."
This declaration of my intent causes him to freeze, eyes to widening in shock, pupils contracting. I know then he's going to run, and I'm going to run chase him down and make him pay for hurting M. I'm already planting my foot getting ready to sprint after him.
And run he does, moving one leg back, executing a smart about face. As he turns, he flings out his arm, tossing the knife towards the bushes on the side of our home. And suddenly the world explodes, a noise so loud it sounds as if the very fabric of the Earth is tearing apart. I see him moved...no, thrown back violently, a red mist thrown in the air. As if some giant has decided to slap this foolish mortal out of his way...
* - None of this is actually true. It's just a dream I had the other night and it ended there. I believe it was the result of a story I'd been told about some kids in the neighborhood almost killing someone's dog by stabbing it in the neck (may those little fuckers rot in hell). Anyway, it kept bugging me and I decided to right it down to see if it might help.
Sorry for the amateurish fiction writing. I'm sure that now that I'm back in school, I'll soon have more hilarious episodes of me interacting w/ fellow students. Or something. I need to keep writing, even shitty blog posts, so that I can stay somewhat sharp for school.