Kid Fight!

Somewhere in a suburb in the American south, a young boy holds his ground against a vicious teenage onslaught. Armed only with the thorned stalk of a rosebush and wrapped in makeshift body armor of his own devising, he is the only one standing at the gate to prevent the passage of the enemy. He comrades, determined though fearful, stand far behind him - dreading the inevitable conflict that their brave friend had invited with his resistance.

I recall this scene with a dimming sense of nostalgia. The young boy was me many years ago, already interested in swordsmanship, though too young to know anything more than what one might learn from playing with wooden swords in the backyard. I knew some karate at the time, but what I had learned came from a local dojo and was catered for the youngsters - hardly something actually intended for use in dangerous situations. I admittedly can't remember how I managed to get myself and my friends into such a desperate (relatively speaking) situation; but knowing myself in those days, I am probably safe in assuming that I had instigated the events that led to the standoff. I recall this situation now, because it was the earliest event in my life that established my reputation in the community as a fighter - or a "wooden sword-swinging nut" as a neighbor so aptly put it at the time. Before that I was known by the townsfolk to be one who tended to play at knighthood and fencing, but the standoff between a few of us adolescent children and four aggressive junkie-grade teenagers (between 14 and 16 if memory serves) would be something the neighbors would talk about for a while after.

The Enemy:
They were not particularly well-liked by the community. Scraggly, zit-faced, foul-mouthed, drug-addicted teenagers just about driving age who were already known for their vandalism, assault of house pets, loitering, and various degenerate activities. Most people who remember the 80's and 90's probably have a clear picture of the type already in mind, since this kind of suburban soft core scum is all but a household stereotype nowadays. They were enough to scare old ladies, but not the kind of truly dangerous trash one might find turning over rocks in deep urban areas and they weren't above taking out their frustrations on little kids if they had the energy for it when the opportunity presented itself.

The Protagonists:
Three kids aged 12, 11, and 9. We liked to run about, climb trees, dig holes, ride bikes, and play like we were Arthur's knights. According to my own parents accounts years later, we fought each other and various different challengers throughout the neighborhood on a practically daily basis, building our own wasters (wooden swords) and practicing with great frequency. So much so that many children were forbidden by their parents from playing with us because our familiarity with the fighting itself made us quite comfortable with the rigors of our own unskilled swordplay which also made us quite dangerous to children unprepared for such hard-contact play.

The Situation:
Kids playing at fencing probably tend to get a bit of teasing from older children wherever you go. Kids who afford themselves tactical advantages by manufacturing armor and shields for themselves are likely to get a bit more teasing - while kids that go at it with all manner of medieval style wooden weapons as if they are out for blood ~ well...
However the initial confrontation started, we had done something to truly off the piss out of the aforementioned enemy and the situation digressed to the point that the three of us, finding ourselves both out-muscled and outnumbered, made a tactical retreat to the back yard of my house. We shut the gate and secured the lock with a piece of wood, hoping that it would keep them out long enough to allow us to arm - as our parents must not have been home at the time.
In retrospect it was rather surprising that these teenagers would have wanted to haze us so badly that they were trying to kick the gate in, but IQ points tend to drop faster with each individual added to such a group, so four of them together must have been the red line common sense limit. In anycase, we armed with a T-ball bat, a bicycle chain with a lock at one end, and the feared and coveted 'Rose Mace', which was never used for challenges - only for enemies (such was the rule for a few weapons in our clubhouse arsenal; I believe the chain, which we called the lock-flail, and the bullwhip were the other two). We managed to meet them at the threshold just as they managed to get through the gate - and by that time they were really ready to teach us some respect.

The Battle:
It was the only time the Rose Mace was ever used on an opponent and it was the first time that our little group had faced a foe that truly outmatched us and was really intent upon hurting us, though we could only imagine what form the hurting would take.
The wretches cursed at us and made various threats, but we held our ground, yelling for them to back out of my yard if they knew what was good for them. I remember that my brother showed more guts than my friend, who was very quiet the whole time. I don't remember exactly what he was doing during the encounter, since he was well behind me.
The enemy didn't budge; they made light of our weapons and asked us if we had the guts to use them, at which point I attacked the leader. The stick glanced off his shoulder and down his arm, leaving a trail of dry rose thorns broken off in his flesh. He howled like an injured cat and jumped back, knocking into one of his friends while he frantically tried to scrape the thorns off.
I advanced a second time, going for the face of the next closest guy, while my fellows gathered enough courage to rush in with their equally frightening armaments.
Already falling back, the enemy succumbed to the momentum of retreat and were literally chased back to the street by the three of us, where they threatened our lives before quickly walking to one of their hangouts a few doors down. We laughed, but were a bit shaken by the reality of the experience. The neighbors who had witnessed the event told my mother that evening and my brother and I were soundly grounded - but rumors spread quickly and the reputation of our group grew quite a bit among the children younger than us. Challengers and and would-be inductees came from all over within the following few months. It was a bigger win than we had thought.

In Retrospect:
It was fortunate that we were still part of an era that had yet to hear of school shootings and things of that nature. The punks we had defeated occasionally nailed us with a BB or a waterballoon after that, but we feared not for our lives. I am sure that I might have dealt with the situation more carefully had I been a child in the present. In anycase, it was an interesting experience to say the least.

This account works to further develop the roots of the story, showing that certain behavioral patterns had been established within the main character at a young age. While further cementing the more central elements of the main character's personality within the story, it also acts to show said character in a more vulnerable and less refined state. Depending upon the preference of the reader, this short story can act as either a preface or a flashback.