Pushed To The Edge
Pushed to the edge
by Bob Brown
Authors note: This is a true story, it happened Oct 22, 2016. Thanks to the “Stand your Ground law,” no criminal charges were filed.
In a room full of people, I would take his life, crush it out of him, and they would cheer me on.
I was minding my own business, just trying to enjoy my lunch. On Friday it’s egg salad sandwiches and clam chowder, according to the menu. I always order the special no matter what it is. The sandwich was nothing special, the soup was outstanding.
I was reading the paper. Lost in my own little world and enjoying my quiet time. I heard him, but didn’t turn around. He was in the booth behind me. He was making as much noise as he possibly could. To what purpose I have no idea. Some people are annoyed by crying kids. Not me. It takes a lot to get me worked up and I wasn’t going to let him, or his kind, get under my skin.
Just at that moment I felt a brush against my hair, just a little flick, “What the heck?”
It gets personal when you start touching me… I don’t like it, not one little bit.
This… This little guy, was making a bunch of noise in a place where he is not, wanted or welcome, and it’s starting to piss me off. Yes, he was black. It’s true my Grandpa never like them. I was never fond of their kind either.
I am a big guy and I shouldn’t be goaded by some loud mouth who invades my personal space. I’ll admit it, I had enough. I took the first swing and quietly swore under my breath while doing it.
The other patrons are starting to stare, but they don’t really care, it’s not their fight, and they’re not going to get involved. If he is not bothering them, they don’t give a shit. I was alone in this fight.
The little guy is fast and ducks my swipe. Like the scene in the bar from the Star Wars movie. The chatter stops for a moment and then people go on about their business as if nothing happened.
I try to be cool. I go back to reading my paper while digging into my bowl of clam chowder. I have taken a swing at him. Showed him who was boss. He probably got the hint and will now go on to bother someone else.
I was wrong. Maybe he suffers from little man complex. He just picked on the biggest guy in the place, and pushed his buttons to make himself feel big. I’m used to this, I’ve been in a lot of bars, and a lot of dives worse than this hole in the wall. Maybe it is a rural country thing, as it seems to happen a lot more there.
He is taunting me by touching my food… That’s it! No more mister nice guy. I am going to kill the little bastard. I pound the table. The diner is silent for just a second. The old guy at the counter tells me to, “Go get’em.” The rest of the crowd pays me no mind.
The little guy circles to my left and just manages to dodge my last blow. I am up on my feet, determined to make my next blow count. He is mocking me, darting back and forth in the booth.
This is conjecture on my part, but I think he was eyeing my clam chowder. For a moment, I think he was distracted. With my right hand in a closed fist, I give him the hammer blow.
I killed him. I had no remorse.
I turned to look at the crowd, they were smiling. The old guy at the counter said, “Good job!”
I killed that fly dead. He will not bother me anymore.
I was harassed by “Black Flies Matter” for months until the security footage revealed that he never said, “Hands up don’t swat,” during the confrontation.
About the author:
I joined the WF 3 1/2 years ago in an effort to learn how to write. I love the short story format and write either humor or non-fiction. I have written numerous articles for the local newspapers.
This year I have competed in 3 ultra marathons, two fifty mile events and one of 33 miles. I compete in the Spartan obstacle course races, completing 4 of of them this year, ranging from 5 miles to 14 miles with a half mile swim 32 obstacles. I am a small business owner operating a sawmill and logging operation along with a welding company. Married to my childhood sweetheart Linda for over 40 years now. I write to relax and escape.