Page 102 of Existential

“Leverage.” He stoops down and scoops me off the ground, tossing me awkwardly into a fireman’s hold.

I bounce on his shoulder as he turns for the bike. Not ready to quit this fight, I hurl my bodyweight into my side and manage to slide out of his grasp, crashing to the dirt painfully on my ribs and hip. He turns to retrieve me, but this time I’m ready and I shunt the heel of my boot as hard as I can into the back of his knee.

He wobbles, yet regains his balance before he falls.

It’s not enough time.

I scramble backward and scream, out of options other than hoping by some miracle I’ll be heard back at the house. A flock of small birds sets flight in the trees nearby, my scream breaking to a hoarse cry as my throat pains with the effort.

Only problem with screaming that hard? It requires your eyes to be shut.

Which is why I never see his fist coming.