The man.

He stood up, rage seething from his eyes. If looks could kill, there would've been a massacre to say the least. His shirt hung loosely and the tie had been lost somewhere, alongwith the gleaming white that the shirt had been, now stained with blood.

The loser was screaming insults but the man didn't need words to throw his punches - he did that with his bare hands. Punch. Punch. Kick. And off the loser ran.

There were people on both sides holding them back but this anger was not to be quenched without proper repercussions. The man hunted for the loser who'd gone under hiding on his friends' sensible yet delayed advice. I stood there, looking at this boy I know, transformed into a man and there was an awestruck admiration that slowly filled my heart. Sure I was scared for his safety but my insides rooted for him - and it was only with so much effort that I bit back the cheers going on in my head. For the nth time in my life I found myself wishing to be a boy just to have been able to have this man's back, just to ensure no harm came his way. Not a scratch, not a bruise.

But blood did spill over. And it was a physical ache to see it on him. The girl didn't hold him back and insisted that he finished it off the very same night. So we went on the scavenger's hunt to chew off the head of the boy who'd dared. They say you even find god, if you search enough then this was a mere two-bit fellow whose existence is anyway an imposition on the planet.

Face to face again, there was no stopping the man. The alcohol in their system only aggravated matters and a squabble which might have been resolved easily, ended in blows, torn shirts, nosebleeds and the ultimate fleeing of the self-proclaimed taekwando master who turned out to be nothing more than a fat, aimless kick hitting lump of lard. He should've known better than to mess with the man. He had it coming. He was dealing with The Man.

#Because I'm gonna buy this place and see it burn,
Did back the things it did to you in return.