A Short Story : Eight Years Later '

He started to catch up to me, and eventually picked me up again. “Let me go you d*ck.” “Can you stop screaming for two minutes and let me explain.” “You need water and food before you go on a long journey.” You don’t get it do you huh. I started to tear up realizing that if I try and attack him again, I was not going to get anywhere. His forehead was getting redder and redder each time I looked at him. “My nephew is all alone with my friends and they have no way to defend themselves at our camp. I need to be back there. I can not leave

I had the choice in the third and chose bottom also. I did a quick sit out and switch than he caught me flat and was able to get the legs in but no points. He quickly started throwing across cross faces but they weren't lightly either. They were fists coming across really hard getting a couple of knuckles to my nose. The first one hit and was a sting to my nose the second was a terrible indescribable pain that about two seconds later blood came rushing out my

"You bastard!" the man yelled, even though his attempts were useless, "stay away from me and my girlfriend!"

Like a bullet in my hip. I staggered back, barely maintaining my balance as I threw myself towards the attacker and hammered my fist into his cheek.

“I can’t entirely blame you, Damien, he is a pretty one,” he grabs onto my hair yanking it. Damien bursts forward hitting a hard blow directly to his temple, he keeps hitting until two thugs pull him off kicking and yelling, everyone is screaming at this point, fists start flying and I might have bitten a guy at some point.

“Why did you kill her!!” I pulled him towards me then slammed him up against the wall again my knuckles turned white from how tight i was gripping the collar of his

Some girl I just met - her name is Marie, I think - glares at me through her tears.

I hit the wall, not exaggerating, a single centimeter above his petty head. He looks at me wide-eyed and pulls out a walkie-talkie in one hand and a gun in the other.

At ten years old, I was 4’11” and weighed 185 pounds. As Dreem (this was his name) spoke his offensive words, he smirked. Almost instinctively, something snapped inside me and, although aggressiveness is not one of my traits, I rushed him and knocked him to the floor. I think he got my point.

I deffinately had underestimated his strength because i flailed to the ground trying to stop my fall i obviously used my hands but the pain of the blade wound was to strong and i fell face first into the dirt.

“Get your fucking hands off my girl!” A large rather portly fellow in his mid-forties barked, rather pathetically into the other man’s face while the skin on his face slowly turned red and his veins been to bulge, his beady eyes narrowing down on the ‘offending’ character that sat next to what one can only assume is ‘his girl’.

His punch was near my face before my weapon hit the ground, his fingers flying by the side of my temple. I moved as fast as possible, hopping to the right to avoid the attack. I ducked and punched him in the stomach. His body cowered backwards in response, my fist missing by an inch.

His response was given after a thrill of curiosity and confusion struck my sister and I. She exclaimed, “Watch out! He’s going to hit you!”

“I have to do this I’m sorry.” I try to pull my arm away but her grip just tightens on me. Looking at her again I all but shout “I have to do this! I promised him that I would follow him!”

As expected he threatened me not come in between. He also gave me two three punches on my stomach which was very painful.