Fight or Flight

The two men faced off. Something had set off a powder keg of anger which caused Brute A to chase Brute B to the darkened, unstaged part of the arena. The threats hurled between them were preposterous in that way which only happens when the parties involved are truly angry at each other. It was as if people of limited vocabularies decided to have a conversation by speaking in tongues. Apparently, one was going to pummel the other so badly his grave stone would say he wasn’t buried there so much as poured into the ground. The hurled threats, while preposterous, escalated to raised hands. It would be silly if it weren’t so serious. Blood was in the air. Something bad was going to happen. And in between the two stood my friend Emmett, holding a rapidly wilting corn dog.

This Story Was Completed By:
Joel Dale: read his version here.