I got a review today that put me in a bad mood. Everybody gets an opinion. That’s fine and I don’t ever reply to bad reviews. However, borderline libellous statements sap my creative energy and make me sad. I’ve reported the abuse to the platform in question, though I doubt they’ll do anything about it. That’s how these things tend to go.
I took an hour off. I lost some writing time. I watched an episode of Band of Brothers. Was there ever a better film depiction of soldiers in war that didn’t glamorize it? It was a good thing to lose an hour to.
Anyway, I posted the story below on Facebook earlier. Then I decided to share it with all of you. If you like my crime novels, Bigger Than Jesus and Higher Than Jesus, you might go for this. It’s from a dark work in progress in my head. Let’s have a demonstration of psycho-macho psyche and what that BS can get you. Let’s call it…
The big man’s first slap stunned the smaller man.
The victim’s head rocked back and blood ran freely from his split lip. Shocked, he touched his mouth. “The speaker phone was on when you called me at home before. My family heard. You frightened my wife and child. You shouldn’ta done that.”
A smile. “Scared of me?”
“You’re making a mistake. Leave. Leave now! Please!”
The big man stepped closer, looked him up and down, and chuckled.
The smaller man took the cell from his shirt pocket and hit “End”.
The big man’s second slap didn’t connect. Instead, the intended victim cupped his attacker’s chin in one hand and grabbed him by the hair at the back of his head. The big man laughed, even as the smaller man twisted his neck and, almost gently, guided him to the ground.
Then the big man’s intended victim brought all his weight down, hard, slamming the point of his knee into the side of the attacker’s face, just in front of the ear.
The big man’s laughter broke cold over stunning realization. The jaw didn’t break. Instead, it wrenched to the side in a loose, snapping slide.
A second’s silence passed. Nerves lit fire. Brain gears whirled panic. The screeching and flailing began.
The smaller man yelled to be heard above the big man’s pain. “You came to humiliate me! You came here to beat me up. But I’m not here for a fight!”
He took the big man’s eyes first. After that, it was easy.
When the man stood, he wasn’t the victim anymore. His cell lay on the floor, ringing and ringing. That would be 911 calling back to make sure he was okay. He was fine. He felt taller.