Twenty-Four

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The first time I've been in a fist fight was when I was on fifth grade. It was for a valid reason, I think. One time, a boy had picked on my friend. He was always getting picked by that stupid, musty boy and he never said anything.

But I was there.

I wouldn't let that happen to my friend.

After school, I jumped onto that boy and swung my very first punch. All I remembered was the feeling of relief and pain. It was good pain.

Then there came another punch. But it wasn't from me. It was from the boy. I received my very first pain. The next thing that came up was all just fists and pain and bruises and chaos and wounds and scratches and screams and darkness.

That day, I started believing that the world is a chaotic place. Full of madness and insane people. I wished for the world to be better that day. And then realized that it would be impossible.

ElliotWhere stories live. Discover now