Good (Violent) Times

  I giggled through the blood pouring down my face (so much for a little cut). I get so bored with life without seeing my own blood once in a while. It's pretty. The hooligans shift away from me, uneasy and nervous. I'm not reacting as I should. Some of them are getting tired. Twenty minutes of punching and kicking can get exhausting. I laugh, "Hit me more!" Two boys call it quits and run off. The other three linger, not knowing what to do. I slap my face a few times, showing them what I want. One more ran screaming, "Crazy bitch!" Uh well, never mind. Good thing I love giving it as good as I get. I run up to one cheerfully and to his surprise smack him on his ass with a fist to the face. "Fuck you're strong!" He starts to cry, the pussy. The last, the leader and instigator of the fight backs up fast. I tackle him, pinning him to the ground. "What shall I do with you? Your lips look tasty, can I eat them?" I bear my blood stained teeth. He desperately tries to wiggle out of my grasp, but I'm a 110kg (not to mention pumped with adrenaline) and he's half my weight. I bend to bite, then think better of it. I choke him a little instead until he passes out. I get up and look around. The other cunts are long gone. The leader is sleeping soundly while the wuss is curled up in a ball weeping softly. I think there is some screaming from onlookers. And all for my $5 in change. That's when the police arrive (late, as usual) and I'm tasered.

Joyanne comes into the psych ward room where I'm handcuffed to the bed. She looks worried and disappointed. "Outside the library. I understand they started it, but you're still going to have to be assessed. Broken noses and arms... I guess you weren't joking about being able to hurt someone." I shrug. We talk some more about how I barely got bruised just had that tiny (but deep) nick on my forehead. "Just, for Gods sake, don't do this again, yes?!" I nod seriously. Inside I say "No promises."