You’ve gotta save yourself so you can find a way to save someone else — Greg Holden (Save Yourself)

I couldn’t have been older than eleven. It must have been quite a rainy day. There is no way we would have been allowed to play inside otherwise. Back then, I was still a pretty happy kid.

I’d wake up every day looking forward to meet my friends, in spite of all the work that I had to put up with. We were simple; I was Boy Genius, but envy was rarely an issue, except for the other geniuses. We were too obsessed with playing to pay other matters any attention at all. There was one hiccup, however.

Brandon was revered by some, but he mostly instilled fear in the majority. He was strong and terrifying like a certain wrestler. His blond locks did nothing to hide his sulky face that looked like a porcupine when it broke into a rare laugh. He was the school bully.

I don’t know how it happened. We were running around in the hall — at least a hundred kids racing, playing catch. He was next to me in no time. I don’t know what I did to provoke him — probably nothing — but in no time the cohort was standing next to me. And before I could see him, I felt him.

Like talons, his nails bit hard into my arm. His face, twisted and beet red, came ever closer to me. And still, he dug deep. My vision blurred, turned red. I was too proud to let out a pained scream. I would rather hurt than give in to pain.

I’ve always been like that with pain. Once you overcome it, it looks insignificant, but the screams still ring loud in everyone’s ears. So I ignore it, don’t even try to stop it. But there was no stopping my hand.

So I ignore the pain, don’t even try to stop it.

There were probably more than a hundred kids everywhere around us. They surrounded us. Some, oblivious to what was happening, kept running. Others saw him inflicting pain on a weakling, and they too kept running. The rest were bystanders who wanted no part in the one-sided fight that was taking place, but they became accomplices when they stood around to witness it.

His face and mine were almost touching. As everyone stood by, time slowed down. My hand arched out from my side, as if a paladin came to save its brother. My palm and fingers joined to form a fist at the very last second, one finger sticking out to ensure that the pain was focused and felt. A cry, and then I hit him right next to his eye.

I did not expect the aftermath. Fingernails left the trenches that they dug. My fist left no shape on his face, but his visage contorted all the same. Within milliseconds, he broke into tears, wailing like a baby.