On the spot

Never tense, just relaxed, eyes fixed in the general direction of the one causing this confrontation to escalate into what it has now become. Me vs. another, three slow breaths as i slowly prepare to turn my hands and feet into weapons of pain. Then there's his hands, clenched turning into fist ready to fight me. I glare once more, lose the watch, and the chain, Totally relaxed, my hands already know this dance of death, no fixed position, just centered upon the impact of mits to this half assed excuse of a man. My aim is six inches behind the target, his face hole. He lunges and I merely step a inch back and release my hand loosely snapping my wrist at the second of impact. For a moment I look as though I'm stretching forward with my fist in front of me as though I'm blind, only to recoil and send my left hand on an upward arch that connects beautifully with the chin of this half a fucker. At long last the anger wells up and it is no longer the man no one knows by the name of Nikia Jonez in control, only the instinct to finish what has been started. I pummel and push only grab shirt or a wrist and administer more punishment. It all ends with him on his knees if front of me, lots of dirt and disdain mark his fuckin shit ass face. I can feel my conscience slide back into the controls that have went "lights out" in my dome, and now I truly feel as though this has all come to the end. Mercy is not an emotion that I have alot of, but this stupid fuck is lucky enough to get it in the form of my foot on his shoulder, i push he lays back I get in the Granada and put in the wind.