He was sat on his own under an old sycamore tree in my park when they advanced. The four thugs swaggered up to his skinny solitary figure, as I pretended not to have noticed them.

“Wat’cha readin’, nerd?” one of them, the leader, cooed.
Slowly I stood, my fringe obscuring my eyes, leaving my precious book on the grass and striding up behind them. The sun beat hard on the back of the leader’s fat bald head as I readied my knuckles for a smack.
As my fist met the meat of his ‘neck’ I saw his minions jump back.

“What the fuck?” one of them yelled, advancing on me shortly before a kick met his groin. The other two looked at my small frame, then at each other before running as fast as they could to the city streets.

The boy looked up at me. “Are you okay?” he asked as I wiped the blood off my knuckles, kicking the huge unconscious body at my feet.