Shouldn't have walkedSubmitted by Soyware at 2009-07-03 21:02:56 EDT
Rating: 1.31 on 12 ratings (12 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
So there we were, eye to eye, our gazes locked tight like a bank safe, only to be opened by those with the key. A bomb could have gone off and we wouldn't have budged. Somewhere in the back of my head I heard myself think "I need to take walks more often. Who knows what else I might run into?"
He’d gotten skinnier since I’d last seen him, and his hair seemed thinner, even from the distance. No doubt he couldn't afford to eat like he used to, and I'm sure his drug habits were getting harder. Still, he was at least 250 pounds.
"Something gonna end today?" he said, raising his voice just enough to carry over to me.
"Maybe. Maybe you. WE ended a long time ago," I called back. I cracked a little smile, looking at his fat, dumpy self. He looked nervous for a second, then did something I didn't expect.
He turned and ran. I gave chase in a split second, wondering he was even trying to get away. He was the slowest runner I'd ever seen, and I started to laugh as I sprinted up to him; a mocking cackle. He stopped when he heard, and took a braced stance, staring me down again.
I didn't want to run right into an obvious punch, so I jumped into it instead. I gave him a flying kick to the stomach, which gave me a second to bounce back up. I wanted to laugh, thinking of how his bulbous, tire gut would probably bounce naturally, but there was no time for that.
Kick, punch, move, punch, block, punch, knee.
He got me a few times, but it was weaker than I thought it'd be.
I'd knocked him to the ground, he didn't bounce.
He started to get up, but I kicked him in the head. He yelled, held his head in his arms, and rolled on his side in one motion, and I saw a knife in his back pocket, the clip holding it in place. Why hadn't he pulled it on me? No time, he was reaching for it now. I jumped at him, pinning his wrist for a second with my foot and grabbing the knife. I flicked it open and stabbed him.
Back, side, arm.
Let go of my foot.
Each stab brought out a yell somehow louder than the previous. I stepped back, looking down at him.
"What the fuck?!" he shouted, "I wasn't gonna stab YOU!"
"I saw the knife, you knew it, you reached for it, I had to get it first. Once it was in the open, one of us had to use it." I said, surprising myself at how distant I sounded. "Stay detached," I thought, "Just hurry up and stay detached. What, are you going to apologize?"
"So that's it? You're gonna kill me just like that?" He asked.
I paused, working the strength to say it. "Yes"
He twisted around on the ground, lunging at me with outstretched arm. I jumped back and threw the knife down, landing it firmly between his neck and shoulder, right above the collar bone. He screamed again, this time long and miserable, clutching where the knife was.
It was too much. I felt a little hiccup, then my eyes ran and almost snapped shut on their own. I had struck a deathblow on my old best friend. I had stood up to my friends, saying he just came off weird at first. He had stood up to his party crowd, saying I was hilarious when you gave me a chance. Now I stood over him, his breathing as heavy as he no doubt was starting to feel.
I didn't know what I was really doing, or planning on doing, but I started bending down, holding my hand out. Maybe I was trying to give him help, or maybe a free shot. He saw me reaching out, and in one swipe pulled out the knife and sliced my forearm. I reeled back, that had hurt, and the stabbing, burning, pain seemed to go up to my shoulder. What was worse, he had cut along my artery. I felt like falling, but he was scooting toward me, fire in his eyes. A final foot to the face fixed that, and he lay unconscious, bleeding from his wounds.
"He'll bleed to death soon," I thought, somehow feeling relieved and almost weightless, "And so will I."
Quickly coming back to my senses I practically tore my shirt off to wrap the gash.
"Shit, that's not enough." I held my breath and yanked off his, but even with his multiple extra large it was obvious there wouldn't be enough stopping power. The next thing that came to mind was a tourniquet, which I only vaguely knew of. Still, I looked for a stick, rod, anything.
I found a broken off branch nearby and raced toward it, pulling my shirt out from under his. It was completely soaked in blood, and I was losing feeling, and my balance. I tied it in a loop and slid it over my arm, then broke off twigs from the branch and put it in place, getting ready for what was next.
The pain from the squeeze increased with each little degree of a turn, but I knew it was good for me. For a second I though I might make it to someone who knew medicine, then the stick broke. Panicking again I grabbed at what was still there, but it unwound and slid down my arm. All I did was knock the wrapping around my slash off. In retrospect I should have tightened that when I took my shirt out from under it. I tried putting everything back at once but I was too weak. I slumped over, defeated, finally feeling a little calm. This wasn't so bad; it was almost like falling asleep.
Then something happened I didn't expect. I woke up.