In a battle, the element of surprise holds much importance. Mark derived tremendous satisfaction from the metaphor that involved deer and headlights. Self-eulogies fascinated him. When in a quiet, tranquil plane somewhere deep in his usually busy mind, he'd often dream about the words his friends would say of him once he ceased to be. When you've got nothing to look forward to in life, you look forward to life beyond the status-quo presented in the humdrum of the pitiable, ignorant existence all around you. 'There'll be a time,' he was fond of telling himself 'when I will be referred to as being imperious in manner and impervious in character.' These were two words he liked. Two words he was convinced, that would come to be known as him, somewhere down the line. Sooner, not later.
WHACK! The sickening blow across Joey's face rung out like a clap of thunder. All the mess stood gobsmacked. No shrieks of terrified fellow students, no gasps from the faint of heart. Just an astonished silence. To Mark it seemed nothing short of the applause afforded to a lion-slaying gladiator on the hallowed turf of the Roman Colosseum. His audience were too struck by his brilliance for their admiration to manifest itself in it's usual physical forms. No, his art was a thing meant to be savored by no ordinary mortal. The bystanders were mere common-folk staring rudely at a matter beyond their comprehension, like it was meant to be. He kept looking at the limp body of his fallen enemy. The coldness of those eyes could freeze the spark that ignites a revolution. And yet, it's fury could kickstart a revolution of it's own.
They dragged him away. Two uniforms. The likes of which he'd command in the none-too-distant future. But for the moment, he shall rot in their cage. His freedom - an entity under survival threat. Did he mind? No. Mark liked seeing on the outside what he felt on the inside.
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