ACTION!

How should I know where this came from? I just listen to the voices in my head.

The punch was hard enough to drive Henry’s bald head through the wall of the living room from across the room. Henry had never once wondered in his life what a plaster and dust mixture might taste like, but he wouldn’t have to worry about the answer now, if he ever did wonder.

 

As his friend of ten years settled on top of a pile of ruptured plaster and ruined wall, groaning in the doing of it, Will did his absolute best to restrain a laugh. The forthcoming beating would be bad enough without having been given the righteous fuel of humiliation.

 

Humiliation mixed with physical pain may have well been the genesis of ghastly bombs with emerald tints.

 

“Now, Henry,” said Will, his hands abruptly held up in front of him, like those of a hero trying to talk a potential suicide case out of the ultimate solution, “I didn’t mean to hit you.” The laugh threatened to escape into the room. In his mind’s eye, Will pictured a big hand shoving boorish hilarity back down his throat.

 

The image worked.

 

“I didn’t mean to hit you, but asked for it, man. You asked for it when you compared Samuel L. Jackson to Morgan Freeman. Somewhere in the archives of Hollywood religion, I’m sure there’s a line thats labels that sort of thing as blasphemy.”

 

“Huuuurrrrr,” groaned Henry. He rose, bit by bit, as jagged pieces of plaster fell from his body. There was a large gash on his forehead, just above his right eye. His left eye was blackened, already swelling. For a moment, both his eyes looked disoriented, but at the sound of Will's voice, focus returned. This focus sharpened and both eyes swiveled onto Will.

 

Will, who still held his hands before him.

 

“I shouldn’t have done it, Henry,” said Will. There was nervousness in his voice.  Now, he was walking very slowly to the standing man. As he closed the distance, his right hand dropped down before him and became a hook aimed in Henry’s direction. The room had the feel of a calm battleground strewn with acrid and tangible passion before combat.

 

“A little help?” asked Will.

 

As quick as a snake threatened, Henry shifted and buried his fist deep into Will’s stomach. Will wheezed. The sound of it was akin to that of air forced out of a ripped tire at high pressure. With tear-filled eyes, Will dropped to the floor like sack of rotten potatoes.

 

For a full minute, Will was motionless on the floor. He was silent except for an almost continual gasp.

 

“Samuel L. Jackson bears a striking resemblance to Morgan Freeman, both in appearance and skill,” said Henry as he brushed ruined wall from his shirt and pants. “No one else may see this, but I do. That makes it right, you little s**t.”

 

And that was how the fight between friends with a decade long association looked.

 

 

Reviews

[Dms]

ROFL! That was pretty funny. And I appreciate the reference to the emerald flash of a depleted uranium bomb (If that was what you meant, it's the only thing that comes to this soldier's mind). A few verbages could be changed to make the fight more direct though. At points it seemed the descriptions took too much time in between actions. When he sunk his fist into Will's stomach, I think the word "sunk" makes it seem almost like a press rather than a punch. I like punchier words like strike, shoot, jab, ect. Good work!

[Poetic82]

LOL...This is funny. OMG. I can see me and my friends fighting over stupid and insignificant bits of unimportant conversation that mean something more to someone than it does to someone else, therefore causing a huge tiff that could have been resolved through a moment of reflection and the understanding, that in truth nobody really gives a damn, we just needed something to fight about. Great write.

[Inda Lauryn]

"I didn't mean to hit you, but asked for it, man. You asked for it when you compared Samuel L. Jackson to Morgan Freeman. Somewhere in the archives of Hollywood religion, I'm sure there's a line thats labels that sort of thing as blasphemy."

Awesome! I don't know where you keep coming up with this stuff. I can't really say more. I'm too busy choking on my tears. This was too damn funny.

[Lola Nation]

I had to laugh: "I didn't mean to hit you, but asked for it, man. You asked for it when you compared Samuel L. Jackson to Morgan Freeman. Somewhere in the archives of Hollywood religion, I'm sure there's a line thats labels that sort of thing as blasphemy."


bit of a discrepancy: His left eye was blackened, already swollen shut. For a moment, both his eyes looked disoriented -- if his eye is swollen shut only one can look disoriented. (call me anal)

you know that eminem song talking about friends fighting each other and "don't worry tomorrow we'll be boys again" that was it right here.

great lead in and story

I miss you!