School fights
I don't remember much of the fight - it'd been building for weeks, petty things, knocking over my stuff, calling names - but it didn't last long... He hit me, I hit him, then *whack* he connected with my jaw and it all went black.
Coming round, surrounded by some friends, it was apparently "really cool". All I know is my head hurt. A lot.
Tell us about the legendary fights at school.
( , Fri 10 Mar 2006, 10:43)
I don't remember much of the fight - it'd been building for weeks, petty things, knocking over my stuff, calling names - but it didn't last long... He hit me, I hit him, then *whack* he connected with my jaw and it all went black.
Coming round, surrounded by some friends, it was apparently "really cool". All I know is my head hurt. A lot.
Tell us about the legendary fights at school.
( , Fri 10 Mar 2006, 10:43)
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I'm not a violent person
Really, I'm not. I don't think I've ever hit anyone or deliberately broken anything in my entire life.
Except this one time when I was 13. One of the big 5th year bullies did something terrible to me that raised my moral indignation to an unprecedented level; he didn't hold the door open for me.
In fact, he did quite the opposite. He made eye contact with me, and there was a premeditated glint in there. He shut the door on me just as I was passing through. Then I thought he chuckled.
It was a fairly innocuous misdemeanour, especially as my shoe took the full force of the feeble blow, and I was in now way injured. However, I was enraged at the rudeness, the like of which I had never encountered before.
So I picked him up and threw him through the very same door with which he had so successfully managed to raise my hackles.
I was a normal sized 13 year old kid, and he was huge, hairy and two year my senior. I was as proud as a child could be at my derring feat of strength and bravery.
But then I looked at his unconscious body a little closer. In a tangled mess of blood and glass I could just about make out one of his lower-arm bones protruding through his flesh. He had glass in his face and a mouthful of blood. His right knee was bent to an extremely unnatural angle. There was a gash to the rear of his head, the crimson contents of which was gushing out onto the lino. And he wasn't moving, or even breathing, so far as I could make out.
To cut a long story short, he had more injuries than a usual road traffic victim could expect if involved in a collision at 30mph. I was told that he 'must have fallen at a very awkward angle'. He spent three weeks in hospital, and had his arm in plaster for what seemes like months. And he had, in total, 60 stitches to patch up the holes I had made in him, and, to me, it seemed that he never really walked properly again.
And the irony in all this? He wasn't a bully at all. In fact, he was a corridor monitor who was trying to tell me that the door was brokn and that he was attempting to lock it before fetching the caretaker to fix the hinge.
So, whatever your name was, if you're out there and reading this, sorry for fucking up your arm when all you were trying to be was a Good Samaritan.
( , Fri 10 Mar 2006, 16:46, Reply)
Really, I'm not. I don't think I've ever hit anyone or deliberately broken anything in my entire life.
Except this one time when I was 13. One of the big 5th year bullies did something terrible to me that raised my moral indignation to an unprecedented level; he didn't hold the door open for me.
In fact, he did quite the opposite. He made eye contact with me, and there was a premeditated glint in there. He shut the door on me just as I was passing through. Then I thought he chuckled.
It was a fairly innocuous misdemeanour, especially as my shoe took the full force of the feeble blow, and I was in now way injured. However, I was enraged at the rudeness, the like of which I had never encountered before.
So I picked him up and threw him through the very same door with which he had so successfully managed to raise my hackles.
I was a normal sized 13 year old kid, and he was huge, hairy and two year my senior. I was as proud as a child could be at my derring feat of strength and bravery.
But then I looked at his unconscious body a little closer. In a tangled mess of blood and glass I could just about make out one of his lower-arm bones protruding through his flesh. He had glass in his face and a mouthful of blood. His right knee was bent to an extremely unnatural angle. There was a gash to the rear of his head, the crimson contents of which was gushing out onto the lino. And he wasn't moving, or even breathing, so far as I could make out.
To cut a long story short, he had more injuries than a usual road traffic victim could expect if involved in a collision at 30mph. I was told that he 'must have fallen at a very awkward angle'. He spent three weeks in hospital, and had his arm in plaster for what seemes like months. And he had, in total, 60 stitches to patch up the holes I had made in him, and, to me, it seemed that he never really walked properly again.
And the irony in all this? He wasn't a bully at all. In fact, he was a corridor monitor who was trying to tell me that the door was brokn and that he was attempting to lock it before fetching the caretaker to fix the hinge.
So, whatever your name was, if you're out there and reading this, sorry for fucking up your arm when all you were trying to be was a Good Samaritan.
( , Fri 10 Mar 2006, 16:46, Reply)
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