By: Connor Wahng

“Darn it, Jordan! Just give it to me!” Andrew shouted, hurling another punch at his friend. Blood, a mix of his own and Jordan’s stained his face, and a black eye adorned his visage.

“I can’t hand it over until I’ve used it,” Jordan retorted, deftly evading the incoming blow. “Believe me, I need it more. Trust me.” Instead of retaliating with his arms, he employed his legs, aiming a swift kick toward Andrew’s ribcage. Yet, Andrew managed to catch Jordan’s leg under his armpit, seizing the opportunity.

“It was mine long before you even noticed it!” Andrew asserted, gripping Jordan’s leg firmly with both hands. With a determined grunt, he spun around and utilized his back strength to hurl Jordan to the ground. However, Jordan capitalized on the fall by pulling Andrew down, bringing his knee close to his chest. As Andrew crashed onto the floor, his head striking the hard surface, he momentarily lost his bearings. Capitalizing on this opening, Jordan curled his leg and delivered a forceful knee drop onto Andrew’s back, utilizing gravity to his advantage. But this maneuver left Jordan vulnerable, with his legs spread apart, prompting Andrew to resort to a controversial move known as a low blow—clenching his fist and driving it into the delicate region between Jordan’s legs.

A high-pitched yelp escaped Jordan’s lips as pain surged through his body. Seizing the opportunity, Andrew dashed towards his objective, confident he would reach it first, as Jordan remained grounded, unaware of the unfolding situation. He swung open a door, swiftly scanning the room with his eyes until they locked onto a single item. “There it is!” he muttered to himself. With the door closing behind him, there was no time to lock it.

He hastily removed his lower garments and took a seat, exhaling a deep sigh of relief as he finally relieved himself of a heavy burden, both physically and metaphorically.