Short Story for Creative Writing Class

26 Aug

Lightning

The punch didn’t meet its mark. I was too fast for the bulky muscle head, with years of experience taking on poser fighters who actually believed muscle mass mattered in a fight. I quickly switched from defense to offense, managing to hit my opponent in the face. He was taken back; he wasn’t use to fighting someone who actually knew how to defend themselves. With another punch to his stomach, fear began to show in his eyes, knowing that I now had the upper hand.

Rain poured over head, with an occasional bolt of lightning, followed shortly by the sound of thunder. Around us the buildings that made up our campus were soaked black from the onslaught of the storm. No one was around us, their sanity in check, avoiding the dark day outside. Nature seemed to agree with our moods, making it the perfect day for a fight of such consequence.

With a quick side step to the left, I dodged another of his punches. I followed up with another quick blow to his side. He jumped back, his face a mask of pain. With anger, he charged at me, catching me by surprise, landing a punch to my stomach. I doubled back in pain. The fight wasn’t over.

I took a step back, trying to stay out of arms reach from him. I had to end it soon; I couldn’t take another punch like that. Another bolt of lightning lit up the sky, and I decided to make my move.

With a false step to the right, I threw him off guard, following up with a roundhouse punch that connected to his cheek. He went down to his knees. Rain continued to pour over us as I stood over him, weary to the fact that he could get up at any moment, but knowing that I had won.

“It didn’t have to be this way,” I spoke down to him.

He looked up at me, a bruise already beginning to form where my punch had landed on his cheek,” You know good and well that I couldn’t sit by and let you take her from me. Would you have?”

“I didn’t take her from you. She left you. She was tired of what you were putting her through. She was tired of you not letting her have any freedom. Frankly, she was tired of you.”

This is what it had come down to; me looking down to him, after a fight that shouldn’t have happened. The storm continued around us. Every now and then a gust of wind blew the rain harder against me. I wanted to walk away. I wanted this to be over. I was sick of all of this. Before I did that, though, I had to make sure it was over for good.

It wasn’t.

He lunged towards me, violent, looking to get in any hit that he could.

I was expecting it though. Before he could manage to get close enough to make contact, I let out a round house kick that connected to his face. Blood began to pour from his nose, as he hit the ground.

Angry at the situation, I walked away.

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