TAMING THE WILD RIDER

ad of away from them. Several folks sped past me, nearly toppling my backpack off my

ollowed the student wave after rea

es. They were all staring at something I couldn't quite see yet, muttering to each other. I dodged under a few arms and worked

folding a few feet in front of me. However, there was an even more powerful force prope

ught sigh

e face of a

e he was creating. His white shirt was lying limply across his body, shredded, perhaps by the other guy's futile attempt t

hitting the other boy in the face. His attacks had an almost animali

ervene to stop Hudson's fists. However, the crowd's jeers were so loud that their entreaties to stop were hardly a

went beyond a performance

articular intensity, a calculated desire for agony. If you didn't pay close attention, you may believe Hudson had lost his mind. However, Hudson had complete control over each wound he c

youngster by aggression and gore. I felt something deep in my chest,

nt of time that had gone by when three police officers, not the small-framed high school security officers, had their large arms encircling

om my fourth period. Tyler Herring is a boy who once made fun of our teacher's receding hairline and offered me

idea of him still standing there, pretending he hadn't nearly killed T

abbing a damp towel over his bloodied face as I watched, and I hated myself for thinking such thoughts. His blood-streaked, aristocratic nose, with its flawless slope

and a split lip, but h

to interpret what was going on there. However, even as he turned away, I