Face Punch!!!



  FACE PUNCH!!!

  (A Don’t Take Seriously Short Story)

  By

  Julius St. Clair

  Copyright © 2013 by Julius St. Clair

  All rights reserved. This story or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a fictional work and all actions performed by the characters should not be replicated in real life under any circumstances. The game Face Punch should not be played.

  This is the introduction story of Nathan Nuttingham and Gregory “Gooseberry” Waters.

  When my best friend on Earth said he wanted to give me a punch, I thought he meant the drink. Well, at least I saw red. I tried to hit Gooseberry back, but I just got punched in the face again. I fell on my butt in shock, wondering why my most trusted friend could do such a thing. But Gooseberry was jumping up and down in excitement like he had been sniffing rubber glue in the art department.

  “It’s the latest craze, Nate! FACE PUNCH!”

  “And this is an actual game?” I asked skeptically. “Or did you make it up?”

  “Oh, it’s legit. Just watch.”

  Gooseberry strolled up to a kid walking on the street and asked him to come over. They walked onto my lawn just as I was getting up. Gooseberry was in the middle of a question.

  “ – and so as a result, you didn’t get the job?”

  “No, unfortunately,” the kid said, tugging on his backpack. “Like I told you, they don’t care for a kid with ear piercings. I don’t see the big deal. It’s a cash register position. Where’s the harm?”

  “I understand,” Gooseberry said slyly. “What’s on the inside counts, not – FACE PUNCH!”

  Gooseberry hit the kid as hard as he could in the face, sending him sprawling back in the grass. I could hear something crack in his backpack on impact. The kid got up angrily and raised a fist in retaliation but Gooseberry started backing off like a boxer, keeping light on his feet while he spoke.

  “Hey! Hey! You can’t hit me!”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I hit your first. Those are the rules of FACE PUNCH.”

  “What? What the heck is FACE PUNCH?”

  “A life changing game, my friend,” Gooseberry said. I didn’t see the point at all. Gooseberry was always coming up with ridiculous games and rules.

  “How? What’s so life changing about hitting me in the face?”

  “If you’re willing to fight me over hitting you physically, why aren’t you willing to fight in the job sector?”

  The question caught the kid off guard, and he lowered his fists in curiosity.

  “Think about it,” Gooseberry said. “Everyone is so willing to accept the status quo. We don’t fight at all. We just accept what happens and run off with our tail between our legs. But, what if we do fight back? What if you go back to that job and demand you be hired? Even if you aren’t, at least you gave a great effort. And who knows? They might just like that fiery spark in you. When someone punches us in the face, no matter in what form, we have to be willing to punch them right back.”

  “What is this guy, a philosopher?” the kid said to me. I chuckled and shook my head.

  “He’s something alright.”

  “So what are the rules of FACE PUNCH?” the kid said. “You got my attention.”

  “You go around making sure people are achieving what they want out of life. Ask them questions and get a feel for it. Once you realize that they need a push in the right direction, you punch them in the face, as hard as you can without breaking it, and then you explain the game.”

  “Wow,” the kid laughed. “You ever get beat up over this?”

  “Well, the rules are that the person you punched isn’t supposed to hit back because then it just turns into a fight. But, yeah, I’ve had to run away a couple times.”

  “Then what happened?”

  “I waited until I saw them the next day, and then I punched them in the face again. Apparently, they didn’t get the message the first time.”

  “This is awesome,” the kid said. “Helping people and punching them in the face. You should start a charity or some kind of non-profit.”

  “Paperwork pending,” Gooseberry smiled.

  “Well, I gotta go get that job,” the kid chuckled. “But you take care of yourself. See to it that non-profit business happens.”

  “Oh, I will!” Gooseberry shouted as the kid walked off. I got up and brushed the grass off my clothes.

  “How many people know about this?” I asked him. He put a thinking finger to his chin.

  “Let’s see…what’s today? Sunday? Well, I’ve been punching people all weekend, so I guess about thirty.”

  “You’ve been punching people in the face all weekend?” I said in awe. “Are you serious?”

  “Yeah, but think about all the lives I saved in the process.”

  “Wow, you’re insane.”

  “What are you trying to say? I shouldn’t be helping people?”

  “Not like that.”

  “Try it. I promise it will change how you view things in the world.”

  “Okay, whatever, Gooseberry.”

  “Don’t be mad. Just try it on anyone. And I mean anyone. FACE PUNCH does not discriminate.”

  “What is this? A religion now?”

  “No. It’s just FACE PUNCH.”

  “Okay, Gooseberry,” I laughed. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Catch you later, Nate. Remember, keep on punching.”

  I ignored his last words as I continued on home. What was wrong with this kid? Punching people in the face all weekend like he was handing out flyers to a church. Yet…that kid on the street had received it so quickly, like he was actually grateful that he had been knocked to his senses…but Gooseberry had come up with games before. Just because one kid had went along with it didn’t mean this was going to suddenly become a national sensation. The kid was probably in on it and Gooseberry had persuaded him to play along when they were on the sidewalk.

  There was no such game as FACE PUNCH.

  And it sure didn’t change lives.

  And with this satisfying revelation soothing my thoughts, I was able to fall asleep that night and get well rested for the school day.

  I’m glad I did. Because I did not expect to see what I saw. Teachers must’ve been in an uproar.

  People were punching each other in the face everywhere I went. And the weird thing was that they didn’t just start fighting. I mean someone would get punched, and then a cordial conversation would ensue between the attacker and the victim like it was all okay. With about thirty people in each hallway getting hit, and then gracefully accepting it, it was like a strange dance was being performed and I was the only one without a partner.

  “Why do you look so down?” a boy asked, walking next to me as I headed to my locker. I eyed them suspiciously.

  “Why are you so concerned?”

  “Well, you just look down, that’s all.”

  “Thanks for asking, but no, I feel pretty awesome.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, pleading with me to give him something.

  “Absolutely. Are you?”

  “Oh, I’m fine. Thanks,” he said quickly, leaving in disappointment. I sighed and wiped my forehead from sweat. I barely dodged that bullet. I sighed in relief again as I saw a boy down the hall get punched in the face six times in a row, each punch by the attacker being followed with a “Get over her! Be happy!”

  The game was already getting out of hand.

  But if this many people were involved…was there something to it? Were lives being changed or people just liked punching others and bein
g able to justify it?

  “Why are you just staring at them?” a girl asked me from behind. “Aren’t you going to help?”

  I turned around and saw Dana, the most beautiful and smartest girl in school, asking me, of all people, a question.

  “Well, what are you staring at? What is wrong with people today?”

  “It’s a game,” I explained to her, losing myself in her emerald green eyes. “It’s not supposed to be vicious or anything.”

  “Looks like it hurts.”

  “Well, you find out what is troubling someone,” I said in a trance, like I was turning into a zombie, “and then you punch them in the face. The point is to show them that if they’re willing to fight back when attacked physically, why not otherwise in life?”

  “It’s a strange way to help someone. What happened to talking?”

  “Talking doesn’t work these days,” I said, licking my lips absent-mindedly. She gave me a creeped-out look.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “So where’s your boyfriend?” I asked boldly. She looked me up and down.

  “What does it matter to you?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Well, if you must know. We broke up a few days ago.”

  “Oh, I’m so sorry. What about?”

  “He was too afraid to ask my parents if he could take me out. They’re real traditional. I wasn’t even supposed to go out with him without their approval. So I finally told him that he had to man up and ask them, but he chickened out.”

  “You need a man that’s not afraid.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Someone the parents will appreciate. A real go-getter. Ambitious.”

  “Definitely. You don’t happen to know any men like that these days, do you?”

  “You’re looking at him.”

  “Very funny. I