I had been sitting in a tree, messily eating potatoes with another boy who was not so predisposed to violence as I, when Samuel insulted my mother. I feel very strongly about her reputation after what Dad had done to her face.
I knew Samuel once, some time ago at the rehabilitation center. He languished in the other class that kept to themselves except for sports days.
I had already decided to maim him when I dropped down from the oaken boughs. He smirked to his friends on the nearby benches when he raised his fists, and made some more comments about my mother’s indignity. He had no idea about the hammer I carried.
Most boys like to talk before they fight. I find it’s best to let them enjoy it.