It wasn't the pain that left me startled on the ground... it was the tear that slipped from my dust covered cheek and landed on the top of my blood smeared hand. A tear. A single tear. Oh how it threw me off guard. 'I don't cry!' my mind screamed in a moment of sheer confusion.
"Get up!" he commanded; standing over me. His blade resting at the side of his torn jeans. The once dark denim now stained with dust mixed with blood. The blade, shiney and unmistakably sharp... the end just hovering above the ground near my feet.
"GET UP!" he now yelled. Frustration thick as the humid air that surrounded us.
As I struggled to forget the wet streak that horrific tear left. Banish the image of what my face must look like right now. I know that my face was covered in dust made wet by sweat. My features strong with determination for the battle I was in the middle of. No doubt that the iron taste that invaded my mouth was from my split lip. Knowing that the blood that streaked my face, my chest, my pants was a mixture of his and my own. None of these things; that would cause a normal person (if there is such a thing) great distress and fear due to nothing less than self-preservation, even phased me. Just another day. Just another battle. But knowing that He was looking down at me... that the tear had left a clean line as it washed away all of the above from my face - oh that was something I could not bear for Him to see.
"GET..." I didn't let him finish.
I slid my legs around, taking him off guard as I swept his feet out from under him. As his body hit the ground with a dull thud I was already on my feet. The sole of my size 7 thigh-high leather boot firmly pressed against his throat, my blade firmly in my hand as the razor sharp tip rested against his chest. In one fluid motion we had switched places.
"Shut up!" I stated. No yelling. No shrill tone. No loss of control. Just a steady set of words uttered in command.
Looking him directly in the eye "I'm done here now" I stated. The same steady tone reflecting in my eyes. He understood and didn't move.
Walking backwards, ready if He changed his mind and decided to charge me again. But he didn't. He just watched as I backed out of the building.
Once outside I made my way back to where I had hidden my car. The fog offering a comfortable cover as I got inside, started the engine and sped away toward what I could only call 'home.'
As dark dirt roads gave way to pavement and the street lights were streaking past me as my speedometer pinned somewhere around 140 mph, I was on autopilot. I made my way across town - a blur to all those I passed. But none of this concerned me. Not the possibility of being pulled over. Not even a thought of an accident nor caring as I ran every light that was not green. All I could think about was that tear.
That one damn tear...
