The bamboo poles were cradled in our arms, one for each of us. We stood 20 paces apart, and had the poles aimed at each other, ready for a death match. I stared him down, and that look of “I don't want to do this.” spread on his face. At the sound of a horn, we both charged at each other, me going faster. Despair and impending doom lingered on his face as time seemed to slow. He held his pole cautiously, not wanting to hurt me, but also wanting to look like he enjoyed it. I know he didn't. Wyatt Holcomb was a withdrawn person, timid and reserved…He wanted to make friends but he didn't want to do things, like stick fighting, or playing war, that other people thought was fun.
In a last-ditch attempt of withdrawing from the battle, he ducked. Smooth one, Wyatt. My bamboo pole, too long and heavy to control, hit him with a resounding thud right above his left eye. Blood dripped onto the ground, and the smell of it hung on the air, as daunting to my esteem as death. All that raced through my mind was 'Oh my god, what have I done?' He screamed and cried, hoping that time could be reversed, hoping that he'd be okay.
By the end of it, his eye was cleaned up, but still, a long gash remained at the top of it. At least he wasn’t crying…crying makes me freak out, and then I’m not sure what to do…The paramedics came, and Wyatt climbed in. I looked at his face, not saying anything. I didn't need to. My face said everything. His eyes met mine, and they glowed with one single message. 'You dolt! I told you I didn’t want to do this, and if I die, my ghost will haunt you. By the way, I’ll get you back for laughing at my eye.' He could've lost and eye and it could've been my doing. The fine line that separated vision and seeing was breeched. It would be a long time before I could look at him squarely without repenting my actions.
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