Corn, Cows, and the Apocalypse

Stubborn

It had been decided somewhere along the line that I was, in fact, not lazy, but just really, really stubborn. I'm not entirely sure there was a difference between the two, but it did invoke a better image.

When Garrett came at me, I instinctively tensed, set my feet, and shifted my right shoulder forward. If I only wanted to get away, I had the option to duck and backpedal. Those were early lessons, though. Garrett had taught me in the later lessons to block his punch and take the opening for all its worth.

The danger with that option was his sixty-pound advantage, and his meaty fists were likely only going to be slowed by my block. That's why the uppercut to the chin is best. The nerve running along the chin is like a shut-off switch to the brain. Pain for me; knockout for him.

When he came at me, I had already positioned myself to fight back. However, between the sour looks he was giving me, and the brusque way he addressed me, I decided not to give him the satisfaction. Neither he nor August were going to play puppet with my strings. Punch or no, at least it was my choice, not theirs. I released my fists, and relaxed my neck for the incoming head volley.

His fist hit hard, as I knew it would. The gasp I heard from August was priceless. I absorbed the impact as much as I could, while keeping my feet planted. I blinked away the stars and turned to face Garrett's irritated shock. His anger reared and he punched me in the stomach to force some kind of a defense from me. I was no doubt embarrassing him. All I could do was tense and hope that I was making my point once and for all. Whatever that point was, I had already forgotten.

"Garrett, stop!" August shouted.

Garrett looked down at me, settling on my eyes. He must have recognized the look on my face. It was the same look I gave him right before I smashed his face in. "You stubborn little b—"

His insult was cut off by a tackle from the side.