December 2009
1 post
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The Fat Boy
His sweaty red face contorted into an animal snarl, he jabbed a Doc Marten-booted foot into my shin at speed. I staggered a little, but didn’t fall or cry out. Every muscle I had was clenched, and my fourteen-year-old mind a storm of fear and rage. But I didn’t cry out. I knew this bully couldn’t best me.
He wasn’t strong enough and he wasn’t fast enough to seriously damage my frail...