I'm not a fighter

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“Faggot!” bellows the mighty bully at small dear ole me. I gave him no reaction for I knew that he thrived on attention. Instead, I slip deeper into my mask to hide what I was feeling on the inside.

“Why hello Gage. Nice to see you.” I say in a neutral tone. I keep my ground. Showing any emotion to the bully will only make things worse.

“Why do you play with girls all the time? Are you one of those tranny freaks?” Gage spits. How in the world did he learn that word? Most kids shouldn’t even understand that word. I guess that makes two of us

I say in a matter-of-fact tone, “Indeed, it is. Unlike boys, girls aren’t as rough and I’m too small to handle rough.” Then I cross my arms, taking a firm stance and giving him a smirk, “Does that satisfy you?”

He flusters confused on why he’s not getting to me. The fluster turns to anger. He clinches his fist and stiffens his body. “It does.” He spouts angrily through his teeth. “I think I need to rough you up.” He says as he gains a smirk of his own.

“You want to fight? I’m not a fighter.”

“We’ll see about that.” He dashes straight towards me, aiming his fist at me.

I simply duck around his fist and use my leg to trip him. I had learned that little trick from watching martial arts movies and participating in the sport.

Gage falls into the grass face first. When he gets up blood is flowing from his nose. I knew the teachers are going to be here in several seconds. I quickly walk away leaving a bloodied Gage behind me.

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This story is 293 words long.