My First Bully
I unclenched my fists and took deep breaths as I stood over my first bully. Everyone watched. Blood trickled from his nose and was smeared on his shirt collar. There was dirt and yellowed grass in his hair. He still held my Twins cap in his hand, his fingers on it in a weak, loose grip. I bent down and whipped the cap out of his grasp and pulled it on my head.
"You're crazy," he muttered.
I kicked him in the ribs and spat on him. He started crying. Everyone watched. My first bully was my last bully.