Violence - No Knife

“Oh crap!”

Probably not a good idea to say that aloud with my hand back for my knife. But, I realized it wasn’t there. I took it out earlier when I was taking a nap. It kept jabbing me in my side. Like a knife. Yeah, I’m an idiot.

Of course that exclamation just encouraged him further to charge me. Why not hit me hard and take me down? He had at least fifty pounds and six inches on me.

The chest blow hurt some, but the real pain came when we (me) hit the floor. My air exploded out of my lungs, and my back felt like an instant bruise.

It didn’t help either of us that when he speared me he wrapped his arms around me. For me, it meant it felt like I had rocks in my lower back: Oh joy, more pain. For him, it meant his arms were trapped under me.

He squeezed hard, so there was still no air in my lungs. I knew what he was trying to do: slam me down again. I couldn’t beat him on strength for strength.

I looked around. Quickly. Needle nose pliers. Those would hurt.

I grabbed them and jabbed hard into that soft spot between the shoulder and the neck. I got lucky. Pretty sure I wouldn’t have done much if I hit hard bone since they were old and dull and a bit rusty.

I will take the luck.

Yanking them back out did it. He was done then. He recognized it, but still tried to stop the bleeding. It wasn’t going to stop. And I was damned if I was going to help him.

I kicked him hard in the face. Childish, but I said it out loud, “Sweet chin music.”

He dropped and bled out there.