“...I craved the sickening crunch of his face under my knuckles. I felt the hot fire rush to my face and throughout my entire body…I let out a gruesome snarl and I attacked.” Everyone gets angry every once in a while. Including you and me. Unfortunately, I’d use violence to vent my frustrations. Those frustrations however, usually find the wrong people.
During the summer of 5th grade people considered me as a regular kid: 5’3, coffee-brown eyes, spiky raven black hair, a light tan, and black round glasses. I attended church every Sunday since 3rd grade. Amid this breezy, yet sunny summer morning, my sister and I lazily walked to the small, white church early at around 8 o’clock. My sister attends Mills High School as a freshman. She has long brown hair, brown eyes, and measures at about 5’4 and one-half. When we finally arrived 5 minutes later we began greeting all of our friends. We chattered for a good 15 minutes before the teacher called the class into session. The lesson today had something to do with some guy named Isaiah or Abraham performing some morally good act of kindness, generosity, or some extraordinary miracle.
Well after the lesson concluded the teacher released us outside to the playground next door. We scrambled around the playground until everyone was sweating like a pig and panting like a dog. I sprinted back to the church to get my jacket and gameboy. I returned to the classroom and I located my sister with her friends excitedly gossiping, as always. I easily come upon my jacket, however my gameboy couldn’t be found anywhere. I scour furiously for it and eventually resign. I disappointedly drag my feet toward my sister when I discover it. A crowd of middle school kids huddles around a single middle school boy intensely playing on my gameboy. My eyes widen in joy. I hurriedly make my way toward him, and politely requested that he return my gameboy. His eyes rise toward my glowing face. His pimple-ravaged face contorts to mask of disgust, but it only appears a split-second. He stood at around 5’6. He had short brown hair with icy blue eyes, and a sharp pointed nose. He says to me with the utmost innocence,
“This gameboy…it isn’t yours is it…it can’t be…not anymore. I found it. So now it’s mine. Now bug off, squirt!” He leans over and gets so close to my face that I can smell his onion-breath and see his yellow stained teeth.
He steps back and starts cackling and howling like a hyena. I balled my hands into tight fists. I craved the sickening crunch of his face under my knuckles. I felt the hot fire rush to my face and throughout my entire body. My jaw clenched and unclenched rapidly. My face twisted into a mask of pure hatred and rage. The boy continued to taunt me with his jeers.
“Oh, are you getting mad? What are you going to do? Hit me? Ooh, I’m so scared.”
At that moment I felt something snap inside me. I let out a gruesome snarl and I attacked. I hurled a hard right uppercut directly into his stomach. His smug demeanor shattered into an expression of shock. My thin, bony arms then constrict around his long neck in a powerful headlock as he crouched over. By now I hear my older sister screaming at me.
“Stop it Allen! You’re going to hurt him! Stop it!”
She might have as well been 1000 miles away, because I stopped listening rather than make any logical decisions. I wrenched my body and released my iron-like grip so the boy collided roughly against the floor knocking his out breath. I prepared to kick him in the groin when someone abruptly caught me in a tight bear hug.
“Let go of me Gina! I’m not done yet! Let go!” I roar at the top of my lungs.
“Calm down Allen. Just calm down,” replied my sister soothingly.
Only when I had finally stopped struggling did she let me go. Never did my eyes stray to the boy lying on the floor in pain. That night I cried for 2 hours. I felt ashamed and guilty for what I’d done. So I apologized for what I did when I saw him next Sunday. He has never forgiven me for my actions, and I respect his decision.
As I look back on my actions of that day I realize my horrible deeds. I knew I shouldn’t have behaved that way. When I think about getting in a fight, his pain always reminds me that it will only make things worse. Violence can’t change anything and won’t make anything better at all no matter what are the circumstances.
extend- v. to stretch out, make longer Ex. Samuel was so relieved that the deadline for his history project extended to next week instead of tomorrow because he hadn't started it yet. -nonextendibilness [from O.Fr. estendre "stretch out, increase," from L. extendere "stretch out,"]
