I introduce myself, lose some teeth, and greet a brick wall face-first.

Before we begin, I would like to state for all the theorists out there that I am not dead. 

I didn't get hit by a truck, incurring thousands in damages. I didn't hit my head or die in my sleep. Most of all, I was not murdered by three guys in a dark alley. 

Despite it being very reasonable if I was.

My name is Shun. Technically it was Shane, but my mother applied for the change when I was a kid. The name fit, so everyone went with it. Shun Mi, 'an appropriate name for a failure' everyone said. Even me.

Hey, as my Grandpa used to say, 'If you can't beat them, join them.'

I suppose that my situation needs explaining. My mother is the type of person that makes you question the validity of Mother's Day. My father was some kind of killer gorgeous B-list actor who 'swept her off her feet in a whirlwind romance'. Everyone knows that my dearest mother married him for 'the picture-perfect family'. Especially since they divorced the moment I was born.

Basically, I came out ugly and BAM*! Divorce and a game of custody hot potato. (My mother lost.) All because mother forgot to check father's plastic surgery record. To be honest, she should have figured it out from how many times he flew to South Korea.

*[Technically, it had taken them five hours to start blaming each other. Due to circumstances, they were both over an hour late to my birth.]

It was a comically bad childhood. If I wasn't so ugly, Mother might have used me as a garden gnome. Suffice it to say, on the off chance that I was 'dropped' as a baby, I was probably thrown face-first against a wall. 

I look like it too, a horribly deformed monster with {sniffs dramatically} enough weight to waddle in a fat pride parade. If I made friends with a balloon people would be confused as to who was who. If I jumped in a pool then the pool would try to get out of the way. If I fought a platypus, people would simp over the teal half-duck.

Only my Grandfather ever cared for me, and he died years ago. {Violin plays, tragic flashback, etc.} Yes, yes. Very sad. I try to stay on the positive side of things. At least I wasn't raised in Drusselstein.

Anyway, as I was saying. I'm not dead.

There are cool ways to die. Saving someone from a runaway train, jumping in front of a random assassination attempt, or trying to stop a truck with your face. But my grandfather instilled a true appreciation for the cool ways to live. Even for someone like me, so down in the dumps that people unload trash on my face.

I never want to die, even in some kind of heroic sacrifice. Although…if it would make a real difference…then I might consider it. Saving a child, a friend, a lov- hah. As if.

Somehow, providence saw fit to give me that choice. To be a hero on that fateful day. There's always a fateful day, even in hindsight. However, this one was more…direct.

You see, it was the evening before my Eighteenth birthday. I was freshly beaten from the graduation ceremony, my bullies wanting a last swing behind the bleachers. And yet I was feeling optimistic, nearly giddy as I walked to work.

Don't get me wrong, the pain sucked and I had a loose tooth. But if I let that stop me I would have met 'Truck-kun' years ago. It's like my Grandpa always said: Bones break easier than Spirits, but nothing breaks as easily as a Heart. I have no idea the purpose of this saying. I would suggest deleting this paragraph?

Usually, after a beating like this, I'd be angrily considering ways to insult my bullies. A little 'I wish I had said this' habit that kept my mind busy. But I was too happy today and gave a fat little skip end here, the rest is too much and takes too much distraction to imagine plus makes it a more unpleasant story, like an obese dog with three legs.

Only one more school year left! One more year until I could move on with my life. I was even becoming an adult tomorrow, the best birthday gift I'd had since my Grandfather died.

I wasn't even late for my job, despite the prolonged beating. My manager was…well, I worked beneath the golden arches. They had made it quite clear that getting the snot beat out of you was to be taken from your personal time.

I quote: "If you get the snot beat out of you then that should stop your bulbous nose from dripping all over my store!"

I spat some blood onto the street, laughing at the absurdity. I really needed to post about my manager on Reddit. Maybe the story would make someone else laugh. Make them feel a little bit better.

I smiled and thought of looked for ways to describe my manager.

"Unfit for any place but hell," I quoted Shakespeare to myself, thinking through the insults, "No…they're like toilet paper-"

Then I heard the girl scream.

Now, I will be the first to say that a girl's scream is not something you're supposed to dream about. But this one? It was perfect. The plaintive cry for help, the press of life-threatening danger that only you could save her from. 

My blood suited up in shining armor as it rushed to my head. Horns blew a call to battle in my lungs. Every ounce of what made me a man sallied forth from the castle walls of self-preservation. Pain forgotten, risk no more than a trailing banner, I charged towards the scream. Very nice paragraph

My terror was one step behind my slovenly pace. I knew that I had to act before it caught me. This was my chance to make a real impact on the world. I'd handle the consequences later. Great paragraph

Unfortunately, terror has a way of catching up right before the cliff. My fears slammed into my jiggling back just after I rounded the corner. Right after I saw the threat. Ha ha

There were three guys, all six-footers. They were laughing at a girl they had cornered against the wall. My brain went into hyperdrive.

Rope. Sack. Jar. Cloth. Gloves on everyone. Car still running with an open trunk. I picked out too many terrifying details that shot straight down my spine and pulled on the brakes. Great paragraph

But stopping does not come easily to a 300+ pound man. I skidded, trying not to twist my ankle as I almost stopped in time. Almost, give or take 6 inches. I can see this in my mind

Those 6 inches careened, jelly stomach fat first, into the man with the jar&cloth. Like an apologetic wrecking ball, I sent him stumbling into his friend with the rope.

Oh, plague sores. I thought. I jumped in a Dubai pool.*

*[It should be noted that some phrases are unrealistic and obscure.]

My once-in-a-lifetime chance had come. Someone genuinely needed my help. And that genuine need came with three tattooed towers of genuine trouble.

"Who the *&^% are you *(&%^," The rope guy said, putting his friend on his feet. "Cop that *(&^% ate the &*^% donut shop?"

I glanced between them then at the girl, who met my eyes with tears-filled hope. Cute, brown, hopeful eyes. Like a wet kitten.

For the love of catastrophe tickling fustilarians! I thought. All right. Do something. Distraction? Check. Will I survive? Meh. Worth it. 

The guy with the sack was the thug cutting off the girl's escape. All I had to do was distract that last guy so she could run. Besides, I was already pretty beat up. What's a bit more?

Oh, I don't know, the snide voice inside me said, a few teeth at the best. Perhaps a delightful grievous injury. Maybe being a paralyzed fat *(&^* will give me a brighter future.

Not helpful. But the counterargument was easy.

If I die and don't defend this girl, I thought. Even in fifty years, I will never be able to look my grandpa in the face again. 

I guess I was all in. Bottle-guy approached, menacingly.

"I'm sorry," I said, spitting blood on Bottle-guy's white shoes while looking into his eyes as my legs trembled, "I-I couldn't stop myself. You're so bald I assumed you must be a bowling pin."

"What did you say to me?" The Bottle-guy cleaned his ear and leaned over me, forcing me to crane my neck to keep eye contact, "We have a hero here! The amazing Blob! Freshly beaten from his last bout of stupidity. Got a mouth on him too. Let me help with that."

WHAM!

The world spun and I stumbled against the wall, scraping my arm against rough red brick. I sucked in and coughed, barely keeping myself from inhaling my now-free tooth. Sorry, teeth. I lost two of them.

I guess it works. I thought. My greatest skill. The ability to make people mad at me.

All in.

"Woooow!" I said, putting my back against the wall and spitting teeth in a bloody spray at Bottle-guy, "Nice comeback! Did your dad teach you that one? How about your friends. Are they as clever as you?"

The men seemed stunned. A disfigured Michelin Tire boy had just lost two teeth and was still insulting them. The Sack-guy, the one blocking the girl's exit, was grinning and focused on me. Making progress.

"Let's see," I pushed off the wall and walked around Bottle-gut, "You. Rope dude. You must have the highest IQ of the group since you're trusted with tying the knots."

I paused. What could I insult Rope-guy with? He had a full head of hair so the girls- Aha! A tattoo across his neck gave him away.

I chuckled and said "Can't be that good at knots, though. You stink of women trouble. You can't tell me you've tied the knot when you have 'Rachel' tattooed across your neck. I'm sure leaving you was the best thing she'd ever done-"

Wham!

Rope-guy kicked my knees in and sent me buckling to the ground. Him and Bottle-guy got a few good kicks in, and I was about ready to play dead. Surely that was enough.

But, between shielding my face and recoiling in agony, I could see that I had more to do. Sack-guy hadn't moved yet. The girl's feet, with cute little tye-died and sketched-on shoes, were pointed towards escape. So close.

All that remained was to draw the ire of the fat one left holding the bag.

Piece of cake.

I rose to my knees after the kicks slowed and said, "Wow. Not even a response."

I pushed myself up and said "I hope that Sack-guy is a bit better at this. But, then again, he's obviously the most unreliable of the group."

I stepped around the Rope-guy, saying, "You have chloroform man, and if he doesn't work then you have rope man. But sack man?"

I looked up into Sack-guy's eyes as I said, "What good are you supposed to be? When she's unconscious and tied up in the trunk? Be honest, did they just want to include you? Is it your first time kidnapping someone? You're probably hoping to get some ice cream after this initiation."

The other two snorted and I gave a little laugh.

"Hey," Sack-guy stomped toward me, "You're asking for death, shrimp."

Success! I thought.

"Excuse me!" I said, looking offended through swollen eyes, "I am a hunchback, not a shrimp. If I wasn't deformed, I'd probably be taller than you."

What next? 

I said, "I'd be taller, but not as strong. Odor wise. And that's really saying something. The girls must gag when you go in to kiss them. I bet youYou must have the Tic Tac regional manager on speed dial. But let me tell you this. Tic Tacs do have calories, and boy do they show on your tubby trash. Did you break the scale when you stood on it?"

Sack-guy looked a bit confused and said "I- you're way fatter than I am! How does that insult make sense?"

I'll be honest, I was quoting my mother for a good chunk of that one. I glanced past Sack-guy and smirked. The girl was booking it as discreetly as she could.

"It's not true because I'm saying it," I thumbed towards his friends, "It's true because they're thinking it. Let's be honest. The only reason you're here is so that they can run faster than you when the cops come."

"What?!" Sack-guy said, turning to the others, "No! You guys wouldn't leave me behind, would you?"

Bottle-guy said "Of course not. You're our brother. We'd never-"

I laughed and said "Brother? What, did you pinky promise? Or did you make a blood oath? Brothers were made to betray each other. Ever since Cain and Abel. And trust me, Sack-guy. You're not the one that lives."

I'll be honest, I was having fun up until this point. The girl had made her escape, and I could have run. Not that I could outpace these guys. But for some reason, I didn't want to.

It felt like years of comebacks and insults were lining up on my tongue. Jumping off like paratroopers on D-day. I was going to be beaten to a pulp, heck I might die! So why not get a bit of the abuse piled on my shoulders off my chest and onto theirs.

But then the fun was over.

"You're a little *&(%^ who doesn't know what he's talking about," an enormous hand dropped on my shoulders from an unseen threat, "But you're lucky. We didn't bring our murder kits today. Boys, let's show this *&%^ why you don't cross us."

Then I was picked up, all 300+ pounds, and thrown face-first against the wall.

Wham!

Ah, I thought as I curled into a defensive ball, how nostalgic.

Again, I would like to emphasize that I am not dead. Despite death being a very reasonable conclusion.