The neighborhood bully buried another stray cat alive. You watched him do it under the giant oak tree at a nearby park. You hid behind a shed and watched as he ripped the skinny cat from inside an old tan book bag. He’s bigger and meaner than you’ll ever be. There was nothing you could except wipe the salty tears from your eyes and stare as the cat squirmed as he held it down. The grin on his face ate away at your tiny soul and it wasn’t long until you became completely overtaken by the thought of revenge.

You’d seen enough TV to know what to do. Later that night you donned all black, crawled out your basement window and pedaled your bike over to his house. In one arm you carried a small pair of your dad’s wire cutters. Once there you carefully cut the brake lines to the bike he regularly left outside.

It’s not until days later that you overheard yours parents gossiping about how the Anderson boy was hit head on going through an intersection. “It’s just so sad.” Your mom says as you stay silent while staring at the lines in the linoleum floor. “I heard the doctors think he may never walk again.” She adds. The knot in your stomach loosens and you suddenly feel the most comfortable cold overtake your body. “Hey mom can I go to the video store and rent a game?” You ask with your hand out. She hands you a five dollar bill and you go about your day.

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