Thick and Thin | NaNoWriMo2016 |

| 1. Evan |

A word of advice; never get into a fist fight before breakfast. I always thought the taste of blood would go horrible with eggs and a side of bacon. The force of a thousand suns cracks against my jaw and I feel my legs beneath me stumble. Suddenly, I'm no longer daydreaming of sweet maple syrup drizzling over a scrumptious stack of hot pancakes; instead my focus is shifted to the problem at hand. My face smashed up against the piss stained floor and my body lifeless as I try to move. A sharp pain travels up my spine as I feel my hands try to secure the impact. A throbbing sensation arises in my head and I feel my body ache under the agony. If I wasn't already wheezing for air, I would of thought this to be an out of body experience.

The cool, crisp sweat of blood slides its way down my face as a rough force grips my shirt abruptly, bringing me to my feet. The smell of Cuban cigars is intoxicating as I come face to face with my attacker. Without warning the side of my face is enflamed with a brutal punch, sending my head limp behind me. A ringing in my ears makes me feel unconscious and my eyes fall heavy from the distress. My head is jerked once more in the upright position and this time my attacker's black eyes fall even with mine.

I hear a gruff voice over the pulsating sound in my ears, "Tell your brother, if he wants to double-cross me again; I guarantee he won't even have a pot to piss in." The grip on my collar quickly loosens and my body free falls to the floor, my head cracking against the surface. With all the energy I can encompass in my being I struggle to lift myself off of the ground, my body slouched against the wall for support. I try to speak but instead cough up an ounce of blood, the taste makes my stomach nauseous. There's a dryness in my throat but I manage to mutter, "Which brother?" A blood stained smirk across my lips. My retort is quickly silenced by the abrupt strength that finally sends my body into unconsciousness. I'd be lying if I said this was my first fight on behalf of my brothers. What did I get myself into?

December 15th; six weeks earlier.

The sound of impatient minds drumming pencils against notebooks and chewing obnoxiously to pass the time drowns out the professors words. A rather boring subject of computer ethics but my eyes remain on the lesson at hand, despite my peers who would rather watch television. As the teacher scribbles more writings on the board, distracted by his self ingenious, I notice my incompetent peers passing notes, whispering gossip, and texting camouflaged by note taking. I roll my eyes.

"And thus concludes moral relativism," the professor finally bringing his attention back to the reality that he is in fact a college professor, not a famed philosopher. Poor bastard.

"As I know you all are excited for your much deserved break, I still expect work to be done. I want a well analyzed essay on our own moral values and the impact they may have." The teenage angst fills the room as eyes are rolled and soft groans fill the ignorant silence; typical. Taking a pen in my hand I find myself writing the assignment down, despite my ability to remember, in a bent out of shape notebook. With a wave of his hand the entire room is filled with sounds of chairs being scratched against the floor, papers being shuffled, and a loud crowd ready to exit the room. I swing my worn out bag around my shoulder and gather my books, making my leave.

"Evan?" I hear my voice called from the front of the room. My professor looking up from paperwork spread out on his mahogany desk.

"Yes?" I place my chair in its rightful place and shuffle my feet to the front, an emotionless look upon my face; I'm not a fan of confrontation.

"I was able to review your semester final," My fists tightened around the strap of my bag. "And I must say, I'm very pleased. Your score was exceptional," I felt a sigh escape my lips.

He continued, "Your comprehension of moral standard and internet social conduct is impressive." I glance to the board, unable to keep eye contact with him, "Thank you?" It feels like a lifetime that I was trapped in this awkward conversation, the uneasiness quite obvious. "Well, I just hope you keep it up for the next semester." He smiles, "Enjoy your vacation, Mr. Murdoch." I nod and walk myself out, relief washes over me like a  warm blanket.