Donald was the class bully of the fifth grade, and he made sure everyone knew it. Nearly every day, at recess time, someone would cross his path, look at him crosseyed, or say something that lit his fuse. Even "Hi, Donald" would trip the trigger, if he needed an excuse. He would then proceed to re-arrange their facial features with his fists. The punchee would, of course, get his brains beat out before the playground monitor could seperate them. This would make everyone else happy. Not that someone was getting beat up, but thanking their guardian angels it wasn't them.

Donald spent a lot of time in detention which didn't do anything to improve his temper, but he had a reputation to uphold.

One day some of us were playing basketball, and as I went up for a rebound, I knocked someone down. When I glanced down, the basketball fell from my nerveless fingers, my heart stopped beating, and I quit breathing. It was Donald, and I knew my time had come when he jumped up with fists at ready.

He took a roundhouse swing at my face, and I barely managed to duck his first punch. As I looked up to see where the next punch was coming from, the top of my head accidently connected with his eye. He covered his eye with one grubby hand, and I could see blood leaking thru his fingers. Now instead of just getting beat up, I was sure he was going to kill me. Since there was no one there to give me last rites, I prayed: "Our Father who art in heaven...", but that wasn't the case. I think Donald believed I'd hit him with a punch he hadn't seen coming, and had decided he'd lost the fight already. The bell rang, and we all ran for the school building, except for Donald. He walked slowly with his hand still covering his eye, and blood dripping on his shirt front. I was in mortal dread of what my teacher was going to say to me when I got back in class, and managed to avoid her eyes for a while. Then I heard her call my name. I reluctantly walked up to her desk. "What did you do to Donald?" She asked in a hushed voice only I could hear. I shifted my weight from foot to foot, and stared at the floor.

"It was an accident, Miss Lynch, he punched me in the head with his eye. I'm sorry." I mumbled. Looking up I realized she was trying, not successfully, to supress a grin.

"It's too bad Donald didn't have an 'accident' last fall, then playground duty would have gone much smoother, don't pick on poor Donald anymore, okay?" She said quietly.

I couldn't believe my ears to think this was all I'd have to face, but then there was still Donald. He showed up at school the next day with a purple shiner, and a couple of stitches in his eyebrow. He threatened me a few times, the next couple of weeks, about how he was going to break me all up. I had the wisdom to keep my mouth shut. He never carried out his promise. I must say, though, I was happy about the way things turned out, and elated the next fall when I discovered his family had moved out of town during the summer, and I wouldn't have to train for a re-match.