I didn’t like Frankie.
Frankie was a bully. He didn’t pick on me, but he picked on the little
kids. These kids were afraid to tell on him, or resist him. Frankie began
to recruit other bullies. Luckily, something happened before Frankie
could make his power solid.
Donald, the boy who lived
next door to us had asthma. He was small for his age. We
walked to school together. One day Frankie started picking on my friend
Donald. I knew in a flash what I needed to do. Frankie would soon
rule the playground if he wasn’t stopped now.
I laid into Frankie with
everything I had. I beat him up, bloody nose, fat lip, and all.
When I was done with my fists, I threw him on the ground, pinned him, and made
him say “uncle”. He said “Uncle!” and I said, “Say it again!”
When I got off Frankie, I
heard wild cheering. Even the kids that once sucked up to Frankie were
now cheering. I could hardly believe it when I saw Frankie’s
bully-recruits cheering. To this day I am known in some circles as “the
guy who beat up Frankie!”
Moral of the story: The
consequences of not fighting terrorism can be more terrifying than a
fight.
PS: Don’t count on something
lucky happening.
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