100 Words

46. The Chase
I don’t remember who he was, just some third grade knucklehead. I had chased him across the school yard, across the pitted asphalt of the four-square courts, around the back and through the door into the building, neither of us breaking stride. A teacher called after us, kids cheered and laughed, and we kept running. We ended up with him on his back in the grass, me keeling on his chest, my fist poised for a punch, both of us panting. But whatever had inspired my madness now didn’t seem worth the blow. “Asshole,” I muttered, and rolled off him.

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