As I walked into school, heading towards practice, I suddenly halted in my tracks, drawn by the sound of heart-wrenching cries. My instinct led me to follow the anguished sounds, and there, in the center of the hallway, I saw Misty, huddled on the floor, her vulnerability contrasting sharply with the cruelty of a boy standing over her. He was callously kicking her, delighting in her suffering.
With adrenaline coursing through my veins, I couldn't stand idly by.I rushed over, my rage fueled by the injustice unfolding before me. Without a second thought, I lunged at him, tackling him to the ground with a powerful force. Our bodies collided in a brutal confrontation.
Determined to protect Misty, I threw punch after punch, my knuckles connecting with his face, and my fury driving every blow. He fought back fiercely, trying to free himself from my grip, but my determination was unyielding. Blood splattered on the floor as his nose and lip were split open from the intensity of the fight.
It was a gruesome struggle, a raw display of violence and fury, but I refused to back down. Every ounce of strength surged through me as I unleashed my anger on this tormentor, defending the defenseless. Our bodies slammed against lockers, and I could taste the metallic tang of blood in the air.
Finally, the weight of my punches weakened him, he struggled beneath me, but it was clear that the fight was over.
As I stood up, my chest heaving with exertion, I looked back at Misty who's head is tucked into her arms.
"Misty?" i called to her.
She lifts her head and I notice the frame of her glasses snapped and she had cuts and bruises over her face and body.
"Come with me," I said, extending my hand, and without hesitation, she took it. Clutching her broken glasses in her other hand, we made our way to the arts and crafts supply room. Once there, I opened a drawer and retrieved some super glue.
"May I?" I asked, gesturing toward her damaged glasses. She handed them to me, nodding silently. Seating myself on a stool, I delicately pieced the glasses back together, handling the task with precision. After cleaning the lenses, I held them out to her, saying, "That should do for now." She thanked me, offering a weak smile in return.
Gazing at the painful wounds on her face, I reached into my bag, pulling out medical supplies. Gently, I guided her closer, and as she stood before me, I carefully tended to her injuries.
"There," I whispered, finishing the ministration. She wrapped her arms around me in a tight hug, and I embraced her in return. "Thank you," she uttered with a sense of vulnerability. I held her close, whispering softly, "Anytime,"
