I was attacked by a football in English class yesterday. A chubby douche and his friends were throwing that pig skinned toy around, and things got heated up. Here’s me, reading silently, a humongous collection of Stephen King dark tales, and comes a monster towards my head. Was I severely harmed? No. In fact, it felt good. Blood rushing through the inside of my head and neck made me feel so warm that I wish that kind of heat was around forever. Was I aggravated? Only slightly. I was more of in shock.

The moment the football hit me, the whole class went silent. And it only took me a nano second to come back to reality from the dazing stars I saw. “Who the fuck threw that?”, I yelled. Everyone waited to see what I’d do next. The douche then, stood up and sympathetically apologized. There’s always this part of me who quickly calms down after an apology. Always. I could feel my face relax, and I cooled off. “It’s alright.” The douche kept apologizing and the class yelled at him of what a bitch he was to throw it. I ignored the Ignorance and continue reading The Man in the Black Suit, but the Ignorance pushed me to beat the douche. I wouldn’t, and didn’t. I didn’t have the heart to torture him, I didn’t have the mind to hurt him as much as he hurt me. If they understood, they would have known it was an accident. I understood it was a mistake.

Sure, I may have lost thousands of brain cells, but why hit him? Fighting is one thing, and defending is another.