Oh, and I got into a bit of a scrap with Kniferapist. No big deal.
...oh, that is a big deal? Well then, let me
The ceremony was alright. People talked, people sang, people got money, people played instruments, a guy with a face I can't remember stood in the doorway the entire time and watched me; it was a pretty standard affair, really. I got a severe headache just before I started walking up to grab my diploma, so I'm under the assumption that Mr. Slim was there as well. Charming.
Anyways, afterwards, everyone congregated outside the gymnasium doors in the blistering sunlight while the graduates and I were wearing heavy black robes. Yeah. Not the brightest idea
My parents took pictures. Many pictures. Too many pictures. I'm still seeing little blue rectangles in front of my eyes (although the really big one from my uncle's giant, old-style flash bulb finally disappeared). I'm not sure I want to look at any of them now, because nine chances out of ten, Kniferapist or his tall buddy (or both) are in a few. Or they just screwed with the camera.
But eventually, the crowd died down and people started heading for home. This is where I made horror movie mistake number one: I split off from the crowd to walk on by myself. My parents headed for their car, my grandparents for theirs, and my friends towards their own vehicles. I, however, decided I wanted to get some exercise for once by walking the six short blocks from the high school to my house.
I was so damn close to home: the parking lot of the Presbyterian church in town. Literally two blocks away from my front door. Also blocked from the main street by the church itself, bordered on the other three sides by backyards and houses with people who absolutely love to have their curtains drawn. In other words, the perfect place to stage a battle royale with a knife-happy Proxy.
He was waiting for me smack-dab in the middle of the parking lot. Again, stared right into his face and can't for the life of me remember what he looked like. I really hate Perception Filters.
But I hate pointy objects pointed at me more. So when he rushed me with a big-ass knife out (seriously, it looked about eight inches long), I may or may not have
I'm not going to lie, that was an incredibly stupid idea.
I now have a shallow but long cut running down my chin. He almost got my neck, but I started to duck underneath his swing and immediately pulled away when I felt his knife start to slice the back of my jaw. It probably won't leave a scar (at least I hope it won't), but I wasn't really worried about that at the moment. I was kind of drunk on the realization that he had as little clue what he was doing as I did. How exactly do I know that, you may be wondering?
Well, his swing left an opening the size of Texas, and I exploited it immediately. He may have given me a cut on the chin, but I got him one better. To this very moment (note: 'to this very moment' doesn't have the same impact as 'to this very day'; keep in mind for noveling efforts), I still have no idea why I held my knife in a backhand grip, but I did, and it paid off. I lined up a punch for his face, and the blade just so happened to slice all the way up his arm, right through his hoodie (way too cliche by this point) and the shirt underneath. I actually drew blood.
And I didn't let up, either. I got in a good kick to his midsection, and would've had a good finishing stab to his chest, but he got his arm in the way just in time. So I got a good chunk out of his wrist (sadly non-vital), and a slice up his arm.
Then he vanished. Spun me around with a pretty good punch to the cut on my jaw, and when I recovered (fully expecting about seven-hundred stabs to the chest), he was gone.
So the score is currently Lucia 1, Moral 1, Kniferapist 0.
Yeah, I've given up adding the brackets to my name every time I type it. Not worth the effort.