Sounds from downstairs in the middle of the night. He's supposed to protect the house from all who wish it harm. It's his place in the family. It's his responsibility. So he shouts. "Who's there?" Sounds stop. Nobody who belongs here would be that quiet.
His only advantage is that they don't know he's armed. His only weakness is that he doesn't know how to use his armament.
Swing and crunch. Sickening contact with the arm of a would-be assailant. The burglar assassin falls backwards, moaning on the ground. The man vomits. Why can't he just be a man? Why can't he delight in the brawling, groaning, searing pain of combat? Dry retch. Hopefully his wife won't know.
He crawls to the phone and calls 911. He collapses on the floor to wait for real men to deal with his problem.
Well, then. Hmm. This reminds me of Hawkeye, when he says that usually heroes are just so cold/tired/hungry/etc. that they just "don't give a damn." Still, this guy got the job done.
ReplyDeleteI wish people would stop berating themselves for how they feel.