Fight or Flight

The time has come for fight or flight! It was us, and them. Us or them? The alley was dark, but spacious. Plenty of room for a scuffle. I tensed, and my two companions did likewise. Joel and Jimmy. Good guys. I’d known them for years.

Them! The other guys. They, on the other hand, I’d met just now. The big, scruffy guy in the centre; the smaller, wirier guy to his left, and the tall guy on the right. Never seen ‘em before. Never would, again, I figured.

My heart was pumping wildly. I felt it. Adrenaline, whatever that meant, was pumping through my veins. I took a deep breath.

I didn’t know ‘em, but I kind of did. I knew what they were like, I mean. Bullies, all three of them. Probably. I couldn’t tell much about them, just by looking at them. You never really could, no matter what anyone says. The big guy was probably the leader. The other two, his cronies. What were they like, I was thinking. Did they have normal families like us? A smaller sister, a frail grandmother, perhaps? What marks do they get in school? Do they even go to school? Probably. They look about my age. Our age.

What was their motivation? They must be pretty desperate, or just plain stupid, to attempt a three-on-three mugging. We weren’t exactly small, either. Admittedly, we weren’t the most threatening looking guys. But we’re deceptively tough. Joel, though, never been in a fight before. What was he thinking? Joel, I mean. Fight or Flight? For me, there was only one option. These punks wanted my wallet, I’d teach them a lesson. Jim, too, would probably stay. And if we stayed, so would Joel. I think. I hope.

What would they do, I wonder? Would they stay and fight? Probably. Muggers who run at the slightest provocation aren’t very good muggers. Then again, what I was planning wasn’t exactly slight. Bastards! Why us? I didn’t want to turn up at home with another black eye. Stupid idiots. An oxymoron, though it may be, but they don’t deserve much better.

They knew we’re gonna attack. I can see it in their eyes. The big guy shoots a glance to his pals on the left and right. To make sure they’re with him. I take the chance, and leap towards him, soundlessly.

Do they think as much as I do? About their opponents? Probably not. A vast sense of superiority shoots through me, and had I the time, I would have smiled broadly. As it was, I sailed through the air – seemingly endlessly, like in the movies – only a grim look of determination plastered over my face.

Fight or Flight? That was going through the big guy’s mind, no doubt. Pretty basic, but that’s how it always is. Always has been. I was flying, but towards him. What would he do, once I bitch-smacked him right in his ugly mug? I pushed all thoughts out of my mind, cleared it. Just me, flying towards the big guy, arm outstretched, about to smack this ugly son-of-a-bitch in the face. Morals, fears, worries, all evaporated in front of the facts: Now there wasn’t a choice anymore. It was the moment before the plunge.

I came down hard, pain shooting through my hand, the big guy reeling backwards. Had I taken him out? Suddenly something caught me from the side; I felt the world tip and then all went black.

When I awoke, my companions assured me that we had won.