Disclaimer: Protectively not mine.
A/N: Originally written for Challenge #041 'something to protect' at ygodrabble on LiveJournal.
Decisions
© Scribbler, June 2011.
You don't have to do this. There is still time to back down. You can leave. They haven't spotted you yet. Nobody would know. You could turn around, take a few steps and be out of sight behind the bike shed before anyone sees. It would be easy. It would be better. It would be safer.
You keep walking forward. Your footsteps echo in your ears, but that's probably your imagination. It's too noisy for you to actually hear your standard issue school shoes on the blacktop.
The mob of kids wave their arms like a bunch of whooping chimps. Their mouths hang open like chimps too, screaming and hooting. They seem like an impenetrable mass of bodies. Hasn't a teacher noticed? Where are all the teachers? You look around the playground. It sure seems emptier than usual.
You push and shove your way to the front. An elbow hits you in the side. Someone stands on your toes. An unseen foot gets you in the shin. Cruel laughter booms around you like you're trapped in a wind tunnel. Nobody notices your progress through their ranks; they're all too focussed on the centre of their circle.
Finally you reach the frontline. The last few inches are toughest. Nobody wants to give up their prime viewing spot. At first you bounce off and get lost in the middle of the crowd. You lose ground, set your jaw and renew your efforts. Your extra-spirited lunge does the trick; you stumble like the first person off a crowded subway train.
And suddenly there is no time. You can't leave. Everybody has spotted you now. You can try to reverse and get lost in the crowd again, but the moment your eyes land on the lunchtime entertainment, you know that's not an option.
You shove the bully hard in the back. He is drawing back his leg for a kick, so he loses his balance, trips over the cowering figure in front of him and crashes into the frontline on the other side of the circle. Kids shout as they are squashed and deprived of their fun. They yell at the bully. They yell at you.
And you? You yell right back.
"If anybody else touches him, they'll have to deal with me!"
The figure on the floor peers up at you through one already-swelling eye. He looks so small and pathetic, like a kindergartener who has accidentally wandered into the big kids' playground. You remember how he held out that Gameboy to you without question after you already broke his first one. "A-Anzu?"
"Hi, Yuugi," you say without looking down. A rush of affection and feeling like a heel hits you in a confusing mix of emotions. You could never have passed by while this happened. "Sorry I'm late."
Fin.
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