It felt good to hit someone. I can’t say that out loud, but it’s the truth. After weeks of digging my nails into my palms to hold it all in, months of going numb to avoid the inevitable fight, it felt fucking amazing to let loose and beat the shit out of someone. Even if I got banged up, even if I got suspended, it was so worth it.Intriguing beginning, good voice. Cut "to hold it all in"; make the last sentence into two: "Even if I got banged up, even if I got suspended. Worth it."
That first perfect punch was almost in slow motion, with a hazy comet trail following my arm all the way to Pinscher’s face. But then his nose exploded with a crunch, like smashing crusty ice with the heel of your shoe. Blood flooded Pinscher’s mouth and chin, making him sputter, dripping down what was left of his shirt. Maybe the blood and sound should have made me stop, or at least pause, but they didn’t.Cut "all at the same time".
In that moment before the others jumped in, I was The Man. I was a god. For the briefest of flashes, I was a son Dad could be proud of and a brother T.J. could tell his buddies about. I wasn’t me, not really, and in a way, I was more than me. It was like T.J. and Dad were behind me, like their strength was in my arm. And in another way it was like there was no T.J. or Dad: Just me, this strong and strange me, in total control and in total chaos, all at the same time.
I wish I had more comments here.
I gotta say, I'm hooked. I want to read the rest of it.