My Shot at Revenge

     He would dance around my thunder in elementary school, waiting for the moment I would cast lightning and become amazing. Like Percy Jackson, he stole my lightning, the moments of my prime, and held them greedily as his own. He took praise for his false accomplishments. For that — he had to pay.

    
     We shall call him Percy. During games of dodge ball, Percy and I were always on opposing sides, and always were the last two players. On occasion I’d throw a ball at him. It would bounce right before him, and he’d catch it, saying it never hit the court. I would be out. He would have a festival thrown.

     Other times, my balls would change trajectory, making 90 degree right and left angles off of his person, but to his knowledge, “it didn’t hit me!”

     Later down the road, he would attend my summer camp and steal my friends; pulling them close to him and pushing them away from me. Further down the timeline… Percy would be the first person to call me gay, only after making sure the entire middle school was within ear shot. For these things as well — he had to pay.

     It was a hot week in July, during the summer between 6^th and 7^th grade. All of the campers were busy in their group activities, making the best of the inclimate weather. Unfortunately, the earth was drenched with the previous night’s rain. The heat of the day soaked most of it up, making the air sticky and heavy. Most groups were playing in a rec hall or in the lake, either escaping the humidity or diving right in.

     Our bunch, boys aged between 11-14, was in the roofed outdoor gym and preparing for a game of dodge ball. It was ominous how the game began, both Percy and I as team captains. It was known amongst the campers and counselors that we were not the best of friends. To some it was known that we were mortal enemies. So in a sick and twisted effort to see two cocks fight, they set us up to wage war once and for all (or at least the closest thing to war a 13 year old New Englander could participate in).

      I chose my people wisely, comprising my team of staunch get a ball and stand at the back kids, nimble footed soccer players who could evade and collect ammo for me, and a few guys who were known to throw footballs the farthest and baseballs the fastest. Unfortunately, Percy had done the same, and we were easily matched. It was all left up to Percy and I. We were generals, and we needed battle plans.

     In chess, one must deal with the frivolous slaying of pawns before the action can begin. Same with dodge ball, and unsurprisingly those kids who were recruited last were out first. Only once balls were in the hands of those who knew what they were doing, did the game start to intensify.

* * *

     My ammo-men were dwindling in numbers, and one of my best throwers was already out. A few of Percy’s men were in the back, trying to maneuver a 3-at-once strike attack. Percy himself was on the front line (or just enough behind it so he wouldn’t be called out due to a line penalty). He was catching balls left and right, forming a correlation between x and y. As my players were shot down (x), his players would be given rise (y). It was brutal, and it had to end. Not in front of my benched teammates, my friends who gave me their all. Not in front of his team of misfits who smiled at my demise. And certainly not in front of Percy, who would love to have me be the last one standing so he could knock me down again. I was getting older. I was getting frustrated. I had to act… but I didn’t know how.

     Soon enough, my chance was presented. Rolling from behind me, ricocheted off of a back pillar, was a highly inflated, thick rubber kick ball. Its intricate grooves held small clumps of dirt and mud, and was covered in a wet slime after being hurtled into puddles outside of the coliseum-like, stilt-supported gym. I picked it up and brushed off a side so as to have a good, non-slip surface on which to grip.

     Percy was still at the front line, eyeing all of my players with a skillful, quarterback-like eye. He caught another ball from one of my ammo collectors… the guy’s job was not to throw, but to collect for throwers! I was down another player, but I would use it to my advantage. As my ammo-man walked across the width of the gym to sit down on the bench, I used him as cover from Percy’s sight. He was my invisibility helmet, a power granted by this fallen god for sure as he walked to the bench to sit where Hades and the other lost souls sat. I nudged closer and closer to the front line, moving with this ghost of an ammo-man. I would not let him die in vain!

     After he caught my ammo-man’s ball, Percy was too busy high-fiving his revived teammate to notice me. Added to deathly invisibility offered by my fallen teammate, it’s understandable that Percy was surprised to see me standing there before him, just 6 feet away. With my big red, highly inflated, drippy wet ball cocked and ready. His eyes registered the sight and shown through themselves the fear in Percy’s soul. Physically however, he could not react quickly enough to my actions; not even an attempt to bring the ball in his hands upwards to deflect my own.

     With a narrow sight (the spot between his beady little eyes), I thrust that kickball through open air, pushing aside atoms and loose particles, leaving a trail of singed oxygen in its wake. The kick ball, super-heated by its speed through time and space, instantly ate Percy’s face, to which it was teleported by this grand opening of opportunity. His arms shuttered and the ball he was holding dropped the slowest I’ve ever seen a falling object move. Percy’s body leapt into the air, torqued and bent, his head hitting the ground before his hips could, or his ball for that matter. Percy lay on his back, silent. Everyone was silent. There was a cough, and then a shriek, and then blood stained hands were thrown in the air, begging for help, shaking with incompetence and innocence.

     I have never enacted revenge in my life better than I did that day. The taste of revenge was sweet, although tasted by him. It came in the form of a bloody nose, and a crimson red postnasal drip.