POW!

It’s over in a matter of seconds. Stand over me with your fist raised, chest heaving. Stupid motherfucker shouldn’a got in the way. Notice a trickle of blood coming out from the hairline behind my right ear. I’ve gone deathly pale. Is my chest moving?

Kneel, reach under my head. Your palm comes out bloody. There’s no strength in my neck and my head flipflops like a fish. I look pretty much see-through and my eyes are half open.

Your heart races. We were just fucking around. Come on – stop playing. Shake my shoulder. My head rolls like an 8-ball. Raise me up, let me fall. Oh Jesus. Try for a pulse. Push your fingers deep in my neck, search for an artery throb.

Nothing.

Pound my chest. All your anger directed towards me. Why’d I have to cut in line? Why’d I have to be such a douche? Why’d my head have to hit the curb just so? Sirens. One more punch for good measure. Then you’re on your feet. Flee the scene.