What do you mean battleground? More like a grave, Selena.
I should've made a dash for it. I should've known avoiding their gazes won't be enough to save myself because they're obviously zeroing on me. I got surrounded by five girls, and then I halted. Reminiscing that specific memory practically ruined my mood. I can still taste the excitement and bloodlust.
"Ever since I came across your awfully calm face, I've stopped bullying everyone else," Helga said, and I nodded.
"Now that's a revelation!" said I and smiled. "You should tell them that. I'd love to see them see me in a different light."
Helga laughed. "Don't worry. I can feel that they're very relieved to have you."
I was then held by two girls.
I am in a very foul mood, you know. You shouldn't do this.
My eyes narrowed, pissed.
"Hold her--- "Helga's eyes widened when she saw me snap.
I did a back kick into the abdomen of the frailer-looking one, and when she tried blocking, I pulled my arm free. I swung an elbow into the face of the other girl. Both of them were on the ground then.
Being bullied for so long will make you feel injustice sooner or later. It's how the oppressed feel when the people have had enough of a tyrant's reign. I don't usually decide to fight back. For some reason, I feel irritated and angry, feelings I've contained deep inside me for as long as I can remember. I stomped at the throat of the other, and the other one screamed when I kicked her head.
It felt divine.
Helga ordered something for the others, but I ignored them. I found my wrist gripped by another one of Helga's servants.
Kids like us fighting this way are kind of comical. But people who do this to others have experienced something ugly. And for some reason, I kind of get it. Why would they say sorry anyway? Did the people who turned them into monsters apologize to them?
A bunch of kids, both female and male, are battling it out. Everyone has their own demons, demons that are to be accepted or denied.
I understand.
Ever since I was young, I've been bombarded by cruelty here, loathing there. Not once but a lot of time had I found myself fighting back, shouting, blaming, and asking everybody to just back off. I was the black sheep of the clan. Most of my relatives hated me for my audacity, and I didn't care. It's not my fault that I am very short-tempered. I started to change when I killed two men. But still, even if I changed for the better doesn't mean they'd also change how they treat me. My mother was poor, and so we were discriminated against. They attack no matter the means. From my hoodlum of an uncle that haunts me every minute of the day.To the relatives that would mock my family and me every often. And lastly, to the bullies of this school, I've never been in tranquility. How I yearn for peace.
Then, it hit me like an avalanche. I just realized then what I needed to do. I need a badge.
As my wrist was being grabbed, I quickly noticed the position of the thumb. I opened my fingers, evidently loosening my assailant's gripping power. I twisted my arm and went over the thumb. My arm is free now. The solar plexus or air pocket of a man is found directly under his rib cage. I learned this in biology, so I held my arm very straight and locked my elbow unto the solar plexus of my foe. My elbow crushed against her body. She gasped, losing her breath. Again, she reached for me, and I stepped forward with the right foot, generating power, and stiffed arm her directly into the solar plexus again. She lost her breath and fell to the ground. The base of my palm did the trick.
Someone choked me from the rear. I instantly tightened and lowered my neck. I stomped at her foot, and when it connected, I then followed it up with an elbow to the ribs. I heard her yelp, and as I turned around and saw her crouching, I grabbed her head and slammed it onto my incoming knee. She fell.
Policemen are strong. They fight for peace. They protect the weak.
Helga was all that was left. She looked aghast by the sudden change of situation. Her eyes were wide with disbelief. I was losing my breath then. I focused on the distant sound of a helicopter from a while ago. Odd that the sound was getting louder, I refused to take my eyes off Helga. And since Yolly's gang is approaching behind her and I can see their excited expressions, I knew then what they wanted. It's evident from their smirks that they wish to join in.
I need a badge!
"Get lost, Rowan! I'm not done yet!" Helga snarled at someone from behind me. I jumped and distanced myself from them.
Bullies reunited.
"I knew you have something up your sleeve," Yolly said the moment she halted near us.
"Nice moves, Garcia," said Killa. "Familiar, though." She laughed.
I smiled. "I'd like to thank you all for the lovely years of hands-on training." I bowed.
They snorted. They were probably starting to realize that it was them who taught me how to fight. They showed me the most effective moves, where the pressure points are, and what to use so it could hurt more. I was the punching bag who learned.
The sound of the helicopter was loud, but no one looked up. I cleared my throat when a baseball went flying towards me. It was Yolly's fastball. I caught it and winced in pain. That was probably a hundred km per hour fastball, so much for a nine-year-old girl. It's evident that Yolly has formidable strength, plus she's huge.
"You caught it," she whispered in disbelief. She believed no one aside from her baseball catcher could see and catch her ball. But a year of watching out for her throws wherever I go can also be called intense baseball training. Only an idiot would let herself get hit by something so fast and hard repeatedly without trying to dodge, especially inside our own room with barely any distance between us.
Rowan revealed himself when he chuckled from behind me. He used a headlock on me.
I got too preoccupied with catching the ball, and I forgot to listen!
I felt it tighten by the second, and I was losing my breath because of the pain and the choking. I tried to do a back kick against his groin, and it connected. He screamed and loosened the grip. Quickly, I took the opportunity and grabbed his hair. I smashed my palm into the base of his throat, dropped lower, and punched his solar plexus. He yelped and crouched lower, holding onto his stomach. I grabbed his ears, pulled him forward, and smashed my knees into his nose. He fell.
"Hell yeah!!!" People cheered. I took a glance around and realized that we actually have an audience.
But the sound of the helicopter was deafening now. When I finally looked up, I realized that it was attempting to make a landing. The others might've looked up as well because, like me, they made way. I cautiously watched them and decided to not go too far from the copter else they'd attack.
When at last, it landed, and the engine stopped, the door opened, and a soldier went out. It was Sergeant Paris. He saluted, and I did mine too, which was still sloppy compared to his.
"I came here to fetch you, but I ended up watching a one against a mob brawl," he said. He looked serious, and I cleared my throat. "Your hands were too full. You failed to notice that your ride has arrived."
"If I was in her shoes," said a kid who got off the copter from behind the soldier. "I'd ignore you as well. The immediate threat was before her, not above her."
The boy has spiky hair and is currently chewing bubble gum. He's in full black clothing, and he has piercings. He was as tall as me, but his eyes were snobbish and arrogant. Unlike my arms, his was solid even though not as huge as Killa, the body-building girl.
"Well? Are we going or not?" the boy asked, pissed. He even spits on the ground.
Yuck. How rude.
"Come, I'll escort you to your room," said Sergeant Paris, which I gladly accepted. The sergeant will be an excellent way to ward off evildoers such as Yolly and friends. "And you," he turned to the boy. "Stay inside the copter and wait there."
"Whatever."
He answered defiantly and walked away.