Rage helped me to overcome my fear of my long-time bully. I’d been tormented for nearly two years every day at recess by this one jerk. I’d had bruises, been humiliated, and my love of school had been warped into a near constant dread of his familiar sneer. My fists balled up in defiance. I stare at his ugly face, determined to end this misery for good. He is amused. I hate him even more for that. My small body is so tense, so primed. I will make him stop. I will make him fear me. My eyes never blink. The crowd of kids pressed in on us. Some are watching me with pity, others are anxious for bloodshed. My bloodshed. No matter. I begin to circle him looking for an opportunity to strike. I have never been in a fight before. I have never had to. Because I have to today, I slowly approach my bully, facing my fears. I know I will be beaten. He sees in my eyes that I know I will lose but also that I don’t care. I will still hurt him. He will feel bruises, too, after this. His eyes widened a little. Could it be that at heart, he is a coward? Could making a stand cause him to back down? I fervently hoped for this to be true, therefore, I was not ready. His fist caught me on my right jaw, snapping my head back. I fall and no one reaches down to help me up. Glaring, I get back on my feet. My enemy is gearing up to mete out more punishment, but the hit I’d taken makes my blood boil. I swing out first, my small fist making contact with his nose, enjoying the shock on his face. I feel a large hand descend on my shoulder, restraining me. My show of courage is hindered by the arrival of a teacher. There is no fighting allowed on school grounds. I had tried in vain to avoid this, but since it could not be avoided, I was at peace with it. I would accept my punishment, but he would get his, too. As we are escorted to the office, the bully glances my way. New respect seems to flicker in those cruel eyes, but I will not allow myself to let my guard down. From now on, I am not a victim. I am a fighter.