This story is (mostly) fiction. But it’s quite entertaining if you use your imagination. And who knows? It could have been true.
Continuing on from my previous post, I was in a pretty tight spot. There I was, hanging over a ledge by my fingers, gripping on for dear life. Standing on top of a ledge was a guy who was attempting to kill me; at least I thought he was attempting to kill me. If he wasn’t he sure had a funny way of showing it.
The pain my fingers throbbed. It was a sharp, piercing pain that pumped more agony through them every time my heart pumped a beat. And, because I was kind of panicking because I thought I could end up dying in the near future, my heart was beating faster than normal. This was not exactly the best combination. I forced myself to calm down and try to come up with a plan on how I was going to escape this dilly of a pickle that I was in. I looked up at my attacker. He looked back down and me, and grinned. He then crouched down. He glared into my eyes, and I saw the face of pure evil.
“Remember me?” he asked.
I looked back at him, studying his face. “No…” I answered.
He seemed a little taken aback by that. He got a little closer. “Are you sure?” he asked again.
I paused and examined him a little closer, trying to going through my memory banks. Nothing immediately came to mind. Of course, given the fact that my brain was going a mile a minute, I think I could be forgiven for my lack of memory recall. “Nope,” I replied again. “Nothing rings a bell.”
He grunted again and looked rather annoyed. He got down even closer to me. “Look closer!” he ordered sharply. “Think!”
Even though he held a precarious position against me, I was in no mood to play these mental mind games. What did he want me to do, log in to my Facebook account, scroll through all of my friends’ photos and see if he was tagged in any of them? “Look, moron,” I said, probably not picking the best choice of words since that would likely aggravate him, “I don’t remember your ugly face from anything! I usually try to purge unpleasantries such as your visage from my memory banks! I highlight them, click delete, and then empty my mental Recycle Bin.” I was rather proud of myself for coming up with that clever analogy while under tremendous psychological pressure.
He snorted and shook his fists and put his face mere inches from mine. His fists were shaking from anger and his face was turning red. “I’m the one you threw over the Great Wall of China last year!” he shouted at me.
I was taken aback slightly. I studied his face one more time and then it clicked on me. That was the same guy who had tried to kill me last year when I visited China! He was a spammer that was very angry at me for shutting down his business and tried to take me out when I visited the great eastern empire. He attacked me on the Wall but I prevailed in a very heated battle. “Well, I’m sorry if I don’t remember you,” I started. “Obviously, to you that was a very important event. You came after me after I managed to put a stop to your lifestyle and put a significant dent in your earnings. You obviously trained for a long time to defeat your arch-nemesis but failed to accomplish that task as you were bested by the better man. This clearly made a substantial emotional impact on your psyche.” I paused to catch my breath. “But for me, it was a Thursday.” I dismissively waved my hand and broke eye contact.
Well, that set him off because eyebrows dropped down sharply, his eyes widened, his nostrils flared, the muscles in his neck tensed, his lips curled, revealing his teeth. He was madder than a yak in heat. “Now I am going to finish was I started last year!” he shouted again. He raised up his fist to strike me down.
“Wait!” I yelled back. He stopped ever so slightly, and that’s I when I moved in. “What’s that on your wrist?”
He was caught off-guard. “What this?” he said. “It’s a rool-ex,” he explained.
“A rolex?” I asked.
“No,” he said, “A rool-ex. Finest imitation Rolex.” He seemed rather proud of it.
“What time is it?” I interrupted him from continuing.
“Wha—?” he asked. “The time?” He glanced at his watch. “Why it’s—”
I broke in again. “It’s time for me to kick your @ss!” I shouted. With that, I gripped onto the little rock I was holding onto as tightly as I could. I then lifted my knees in close to me brought them up against my chest and pushed my feet flat against the side of ledge. I then kicked out as hard as I could. Because my hands were still clasped firmly to the rock, my hands and arms acted as a pivot around which I could rotate, and rotate I did. I pushed off at great speed from the side of the cliff and rotated off the side of it until I was vertical and slightly angled over the ledge. I then let go with my hands, continued soaring upwards and then pivoted in midair. I twisted my body and oriented myself as gravity took over. I landed on the ledge, face-to-face with the spammer.
“Impressive,” he said, “most impressive. But it will not save you.”
I glared into his eyes and saw hatred spewing out of them. I then uttered these next totally awesome words: “One of us will not be walking out of here. Let’s roll.”