Samual Evans Pickett
Born August 1, 1981

Sam rounded the back corner of the building, making his way home as he does every night after practice. But this time he stopped in his tracks. Six young guys were crowded around an older woman. One of the guys hit the woman in the face just as Sam saw the scene.

The sound of the punch was sickening, and the woman’s shout of pain was alarming. The woman staggered a moment, and then all six men started wailing on her. Sam was stunned at the violence he was witnessing. The woman screamed in pain and fear, and the guys were grunting and laughing at their sport.

What started this, was Sam’s first thought. “Hey,” he shouted. What the hell am I doing? he thought immediately after speaking.

The thugs stopped hitting the woman and slowly turned to look at Sam. Ohshitohshitohshit. “Um,” he stammered, “leave her alone. I’m going to call the cops.” He then remembered that his cell phone was packed in his bag slung over his shoulder.

Two of the thugs went back to kicking and hitting the woman. The other four started approaching Sam. Two of them pulled out small knives.

All conscious thought left Sam’s mind as he dropped his bag and took a fighting stance. At this action, the two unarmed thugs charged him.

Sam sidestepped the first, letting the rushing thug trip over his leg. He dodged the second thug’s attempt at a grab, and then punched the thug directly in the face, giving a loud shout to power his strength. As the thug stumbled backwards, the two with knives closed in on Sam.

Sam reached out quickly with his right hand, and grabbed one thugs knife hand and wrist. With a quick step, dip, and twist, he flipped the boy onto his back. Sam had solid control of the knife hand, and the thug’s arm, but the other thug slashed out with his knife. Sam had to let go and jump back.

Then there were hands and knives and faces and bodies swarming all over Sam. He felt cuts across his arms, and one across his face, but they only stung, they didn’t hurt badly. In the melee, Sam blocked, punched, and kicked. Through the pain and chaos, somehow he managed to keep his mind; repetitive training was working his actions.

He kicked one thug in the crotch, smashed another’s face with his knee, punched another in the eye. To his own surprise, he managed to get one of the knives in his hand after breaking the thug’s arm. Sam immediately stabbed another thug beside him in the chest. He shattered someone’s knee cap with a side kick from down on his hands and knees. Then he was up again, slashing with the knife.

Two thugs grappled him and dragged him back down to the ground. Sam stabbed one of them in the neck, then slashed the other across the back.

Before he could get up again, kicks came in on his body and face. He tripped over a thug’s body. He lost the knife when he fell.

Someone’s foot was right in front of his face, so Sam grabbed it and twisted. The thug fell to the ground beside him. Sam got his hands on the thugs head and tried to slam it into the ground, but he couldn’t get control of the head.

There was a terrible sharp pain in his back, and the force of a blow pushed him down on top of the thug he was struggling with. His body trembled for a few moments, and he was unable to move. When the immediate shock wore off, he turned and rolled up into a seated position.

One thug was lying still on the ground beside him. Another was propped against the building wall, and a third was sprawled on the ground several feet away. Blood was everywhere. Oh my God! he thought.

Sam could see his feet and legs in front of him, and his pants and shoes were soaked with blood. He held his hands up to see them. They were also covered with blood. Is this mi|

Email this post

Make a comment (0)