I believe myself to be one of the top fighters at school. Despite the fact tha I haven’t fought anyone seriously since Year 7, when I lost the will to fight back halfway through (and resultantly, spent a few minutes getting kicked around. After I took one to the nuts, we ended up seeing a teacher or something. I forget). Despite that, I’m all talk, because that’s everything that’s fuelling me. People are genuinely scared of me because I can just about kick faster than they can block, but there’s nothing behind the kicks. I’m physically weak, but that doesn’t really matter when it comes to a genuine fight. A grapple, maybe, but not a fight.
I confronted Troy today. He was doing the Zultan thing off Dude, Where’s My Car, to represent Zin. I hunted him down with Jack and ran up to him while he was shooting some hoops. I jumped up and feigned a punch so that it just grazed his cheek. I could have easily left a welt if I wanted to.
"Oh just fuck off John!" he said immediately when I asked him why he was still spreading stuff about my name. Then something inside me went cold as I realised I was being an idiot.
All that fury, all that mindless anger at having someone mess around on my space… was it worth getting into a fight? Hell no. But I just wanted to fight anyway, because I love the thrill, the axhillaration (I can’t spell right now, don’t know why). But I realised today that I can’t ever willingly hurt someone without wishing to be hurt twice as much in penance.
Damn my Christian upbringing. I could be such an awesome killer if only I didn’t have this damned conscience, that makes cowards of us all.
"Conscience is the enemy within the gates, who makes us throw ourselves, a wanton sacrifice, to our enemies."
I have to get over it. People will heal. Bruises don’t last. Someone can take a clock to the face and not hate you forever for it. Right?
(Liam refused to aid me in testing this theory. Poor guy broke Yorrick’s skull.)