Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

My boyfriend lived two houses down and we would often meet behind his house at the bank of the stream. At the time he was one year older than me at fifteen. In that beautiful summer we would walk along the banks of the stream and talk, and spend our time daydreaming about life.

One night I took the path to the stream to go over and meet in secret for a late night campfire. The stars where out and I could see quite well as only an occasional cloud floated overhead unnoticed. I took the last bite of an apple as I reached the stream and tossed the core into the grass as I found the path that led to the campsite.

As I approached our spot I could see the campfire, but right away I could tell something was wrong. I could make out two other boys there and hear the sounds of fighting. I hurried up to the camp trying to make out what was happening when I finally saw my boyfriend lying on the ground being kicked by the other boys. Our eyes met only for an instant as he cried “Stop, please, take her instead” pointing at me as I stood there.

The two boys did stop. They both looked right at me and smiled, then braking into a run they came after me. I turned and bolted down the path my mind reeling, trying to make sense of it all. As I reached the end of the path I had to stop to catch my breath, and I could tell they would be on me in a moment. I looked left and right for someplace to hide but it was too late, there was no time.

It was then that the fear left me and the anger took its place. The first boy ran towards me, arms out as if to tackle me. At the last moment I stepped to the side and kicked to the groin, knowing this wouldn’t stop him completely but it might slow him down. His arms quickly went from out wide to in tight to cover himself as he went past. The other boy approached more cautiously with a knife.

He came in with an overhand swing with the blade. As I look back at it now I remember all the training I had and the arguments I would have with my sensei. I would say I know the technique already, and he would answer “You know the technique consciously but you need to know it in your subconscious. You need to know what to do without thinking about it, by just letting the technique flow though you.”

And flow it did. I blocked with my left arm but his swing was too hard and came crashing through my defense and the knife cut my scalp. But it was too late; my right hand came up hard into his throat and instantly starting him coughing. Grabbing his wrist in my left hand and stepping around him I twisted, grabbing with my other hand as well. As I moved behind him he began to fall backwards from the pressure applied on his wrist and shoulder as I pulled his knife hand further and further back. As he fell I kept twisting until he dropped the knife and I heard a loud pop of his arm dislocating itself.

This time his other friend did tackle me, and over we went onto the grass with him on top of me. I found it hard to draw breath as he punched me hard in the face. My vision began to blur as I felt him pulling at my pants. He pulled twice ripping my cloths as I reached up and grabbed both sides of his shirt collar with each hand with my arms in a crisscross. Then I pulled in tight using my arms like a scissors to close around the artery's in his neck . As our feces came closer he stopped pulling at my clothes. Then suddenly he started pulling away from me trying to remain conscious, but I wasn’t letting go. He swung his fists at my face, and struggled franticly, but my grip only got tighter. He finally slumped over into darkness as he passed out from the lack of blood to his head.

The other boy was realizing that his arm was useless and had come to the conclusion that he would be better off fleeing. So I found the knife and started after. He was having a hard time running with his arm dislocated so I caught up quickly. As I came up behind him I kicked the back of his leg sending him to the ground hard.

The last thing he saw was me standing over him with his knife.

* * * *

My ex-boyfriend was still sitting at the fire sobbing around his quivering fat lip when he saw me standing there. As he cried his eyes were always averted. The words came back to me now, “stop, please take her instead”, and became the only thing in my mind. Repeating over and over again like a broken record. Just then the knife must have caught the light because his attention went right to it and his glances kept going back to it.

That might have been the moment I lost it completely. I could feel the blood dripping down my forehead, and the bruises on my face. And looking down at him I could only think what a sniveling coward. To betray me to thugs, and then not even try to help. He didn’t run to call the police, find help or anything, he just sat there crying.

I heard him scream as I cut off the first piece. A wild panicked look on his face, and more screams as the second piece came off, then a third and a forth. The screams stopped but the pieces kept falling off one by one. One piece at a time I rebuilt my faith in humanity. I rebuilt my faith in justice, and established a foundation for vengeance. Piece by piece my anger left me and was replaced by a calm overwhelming feeling of strength.

* * * *

My conviction was for fifteen years for one count of manslaughter. The other two were thrown out for self defense. I think they thought I was crazy, imagine that. The good thing was that I was released early do to overcrowding (they needed my space in prison for some kid that got caught smoking a joint or some such thing).

So now ten long years later as I stand here under the apple tree that grew from the seeds of that day, I see my new path. A path that has lead me to become a righteous vigilante. And so I find the knife that I hid so many years ago, and hold it close to my breast. The last ten years have resolved my thirst for revenge, a resolve to give violent criminals a taste of there own medicine.

So the next time you see a pretty girl walking the street alone, and through the perverted lens that you see the world, you see a victim waiting to happen, take pause and beware. The victim might be you.


The End