NEW WRITING:

He forced his fist into my mouth, I choked, tears streaming down my pink-shot cheeks. I struggled, so he kicked me hard in the shins, I gasped, my jaw went wider, his fist went deeper. He smirked - his eyes fast, yet glazed. He pushed himself hard against me, shot his bleached face deep up to mine. His lips shrivelled, his teeth were white: "Fucker" he spat the word. His breath was hot, his breath was shot with alcohol. Again: "Fucker". He shifted his head back, brought his body up into an arc, pulling it altogether, and spat in my patient eyes. It stung and I winced. His spit mixed with my tears, but I wouldn't give him the satisfaction and kept my eyes wide open and latched onto his shifting, his lack of real compunction. He pushed his fist forward in a forced spasm, and I choked. Then he withdrew quickly. I gasped and took in a big breath. He, in turn, was breathing deeply, his body trembling. He held his soaking fist in his other placid palm. I stayed immobile, my eyes still wide and staring. He looked down at his fist, he looked across at the scrap ground around us. He stared at the wall I had been shoved against, then lastly, he had to look at me. He sneered again: "Don't pretend you didn't like it. You're stupid and you're pointless. You make me sick." I shrugged, stayed leaning against the wall I'd been pushed against. He faltered, didn't know what to do. He thought, put his fist away in his jeans pocket, spat: "Fucker" one more time, and walked quickly away. Me - wide-eyed, stared at him until he disappeared in the distance - then I shrugged.