I am taking a  creative writing class this summer. Some of the exercises are interesting, so I will post the output here from time to time.

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I can still taste the blood in that weird place between my nose and the top my mouth. Dad and I climb into his old black Chevy pickup and the doors squeak loudly when we close them. He pulls out of the gravel parking lot and we drive past the school playground. Over there by the tall chain link swings on the edge of the playground is where I got in to a fight with Ricky Dawson today.

Ricky pushed my sister and called her a bad name so I punched him in the eye. He punched me back and hit me a lot more times. It felt like someone throwing rocks at my face, but I didn’t fall down and I didn’t cry until the very end. When he stopped punching me, I tackled him and we fought until a teacher pulled me off and took me to the Principal’s office. Before we went back inside, I looked back at Ricky and he was crying too and his lip was busted and there was blood on his Cincinnati Reds jersey.

When I told Principal Hewson what happened, he told me fighting’s wrong and that Jesus said that we should turn the other cheek. Then he sent me to the nurse’s office so she could clean me up and I could think about what Jesus said till Dad came to get me. When he got there, I could hear Dad talking to the Principal, but couldn’t tell what they were saying because I was still in the nurse’s office. Dad was mad when we left. He told Principal Hewson not to worry because he’ll make sure I get what I have coming to me when we get home.

I taste the blood as we drive away from the school, past the houses and the big green trees on Walnut Street. We drive past Clouse’s Grocery, the gas station then by cornfields which were just tilled and more trees. The Reds and Braves are playing on 700 WLW. My window is rolled down a little and I smell rain even though the sun is still shining. Dad turns off the radio and starts talking to me about the fight. It feels good to have my cheek and eye gently resting against the cool window while he talks. It also feels good to listen to Dad tell me that even though I’m only eight and Ricky is ten and bigger than me, Ricky didn’t win the fight and I’m brave and I can bet my ass that Ricky’s gonna leave Keira alone from now on.

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