Bullying has been a problem for a long time; this story looks at it from the perspective of someone who doesn't bully, but encourages bullying.
From a distance Travis could hear the incessant yelling, screaming, and scuffling of a fight. A frisson of excitement rose in him- although not out of concern, but rather out of anticipation. There was something inside him that made him ecstatic at the sight of a ‘good’ fight. Travis interpreted street fighting as a sport- he became disappointed if no blood was spilled and was thrilled when teeth were knocked out. He would often make bets with his friends as to who would get into a fight next, who would win a particular fight, and how badly the loser would be bruised by the end of one. When he was in middle school Travis was more moderate- he saw fighting as a necessary thing in life, but he neither enjoyed it half as much as he did now nor did he profit from it then. Now in high school, he began to be more than accepting of it.
Travis had been criticized by all the good kids in school, been called sadistic and cruel, and even been occasionally suspended from school for encouraging bad behavior- he just did not care. Fighting was his sport, his business, and his addiction. So it’s needless to say that he was not going to pass up this opportunity.
He and his friends ran pass the street corner towards the noise. A crowd had already gathered around the opponents, and those gathered were already laying out their bets. Travis himself pulled a few bucks out of his pocket to make a bet. Once he and his friends arrived at the scene, Travis tried to rush through the crowd to see who the contenders were, but the crowd began to hold him back.
‘What are they doing?’ He thought, ‘They can’t keep me out of this. I’ve been making money off of this longer than all of these amateurs!’ Outraged, Travis began to push people aside. He was a six-foot, 250 pound, burly kid; he was the school’s champ wrestler and probably the strongest kid in school- no match for anyone in the crowd who tried to stop him. Eventually he got through the crowd, found the two fighters, and attempted to identify who they were.
‘Well the big one has got to be Tony- he never misses a chance to start a fight, and it looks as though that’s his hat on the ground. But who is that little kid fighting him? Whoever he is Tony is crushing him! I have got to get a better view.’ Travis moved in farther; the crowd again tried to stop him from moving in and Travis again shoved them to the side without a hitch.
Travis struggled to get a better view; when Travis finally caught a glimpse of Tony’s victim his stomach dropped- it was his little brother, Alex. Only four and a half feet tall, barely a hundred pounds, and probably the weakest kid in school Alex was no match for Tony; Travis shrieked curses upon his brother’s abuser, threw Tony onto the ground, and began dragging Tony’s face across the sidewalk, badly cutting it up.
The crowd, half of them irritated at the interruption, and the other half amused, turned upon Travis dragging him away from the fight; but as the crowd pulled Travis away, and he saw the look of desperation on his little brother’s face, a surge of anger and adrenaline ran through the older brother. Travis rolled his body until he was face down on the pavement and, after positioning his hands and feet, raised his assailants (there were at least five) into the air and threw them aside.
He ran over to where Tony continued to beat up Alex and, grabbing Tony by the collar, pulled Tony to the ground. Tony tried to get up, but as he staggered to his hands and knees, Travis kicked him in the chest. Many of the gawkers were still outraged at his interference, but none of them dared to approach him. Many knew the fight had lingered far too long and the police would show up soon- and when they arrived they found Alex in a corner nursing his wounds and Tony head-locked by Travis.