All is fair in love and war: Part 2 

Philip matogo

Kwabena and I stood there, our eyes red with rage as we both breathed fire: in and out. Each of us were ready to dish out punishment in the form  of “knuckle sandwiches” onto each other faces. 
Two best friends turned instant enemies, like powder milk inside a powder-keg. With the galaxy hanging in a balance above us, a violent reckoning was about to arrive. 
So, to lead the way, I stepped even closer to Kwabena and vowed to “adieus” his existence. He quickly covered his mouth with his right hand.
“It seems you didn’t brush your ‘teet’ this morning,” he protested. 
Stepping back a little, and breathing into the palm of my cupped hand, I could confirm that Kwabena was right: my breath was stinking. But we weren’t here for a Colgate moment. 
I let him know that, bad or good breath, he was going “down”!
“I saw Rachel first, why can’t you just leave us alone?” I shouted, offering him a chance to back off. 
“But it looks like she has chosen me,” Kwabena said smugly.
This remark infuriated me. 
The way I saw it, Kwabena was like a gate crasher boozing up all the beer at a party before projectile-vomiting on the host’s special party shirt.
Basically, he was a big nuisance.
Out of nowhere, two imaginary beings materialised on my shoulders. 
My Angel conscience, seated on my right shoulder, told me to relax. But my Devil conscience, perched on my left shoulder, counselled violence. My fist should get kissy-face with his jaw, it fiendishly advised.
I decided to listen to my devilish side. 
“I’m warning you!” I told Kwabena. 
These words vacuumed the smile clean off Kwabena’s face. His eyes became dry-ice, diamond-hard. 
“And what are you going to do?” he sneered.
Both of us were lost in rage and didn’t notice the dead leaves blowing in the wind around us. Nor did we see the crowd milling around us, too. 
We were locked in a fearsome glare-duel that could only get ugly.
But before it did, Rachel materialised from the expectant crowd. Anxiously, she stood sandwiched between us, shoving us apart while her brown eyes bulged and merged like two coconuts careening for a kiss.
“Please don’t fight! You’re best friends!!!” her voice screaming like a siren on an ambulance. 
Her words caused a hush.
It was as if everyone there was suddenly put under general anaesthetic by Dr Death Kevorkian.
My heart fluttered as I looked at Rachel’s earnest otherworldly face and I was promptly transported to sensations sweet. I then bowed my head, as I cast a glance at the ground like a naughty but remorseful boy.
I knew what I now had to do.
So I pushed Rachel aside, and steeled myself to kick Kwabena’s behind!
Rachel started crying as she helplessly saw my evil side winning.
Ominously, the school walls bled.
The crowd exploded into a brimful jamboree of excitement when I and Kwabena raised our fists, ready to fight.
Before we rumbled, however, we taunted each other by shooting off at the lip.
Yes, by turning our mouths into machine guns that rat-at-tatted abuses, we secretly hoped to encourage each other to climb-down.
We both didn’t want a brawl.
But it was too late to back down. 
To keep up appearances, we both growled at each other like two feral dogs tugging at a bone in a dark alley.
I told Kwabena that my fists would “doll him up” like the Barbie he was. Kwabena hit back by saying he would take good care of my dresses after he ended my life. Clearly, we were both high on diaper-testosterone. 
Our verbal fists kept being thrown without a single real punch being landed.
As the rah-rah of our mutual abuse journeyed to meathead territory, the crowd’s enthusiasm was now half extinguished. Someone even called us both by the ‘C’ word that rhymes with ‘Howard’.
Our ‘fight’ was degenerating into a squalid mess.
Who was going to throw the first punch?
My game face hardened and I threw a mock left hook so as to gin up the crowd’s interest. Of course, it was aimed to miss. And did so by a mile. But the crowd’s appetite was whet anew.
There were cheers all around.
Kwabena and I could continue blabbing again…and we were turning Oscar-winning snarl performances. Until, tragically, I hit him in the jugular by abusing his sister.
I didn’t know that he was that attached to her since we both used to ignore her a great deal. But apparently, he was.
Lowering his fists, Kwabena looked at me silently.
I thought I had him, so I kept my mouth running. 
Suddenly, Kwabena hit me with a punch that struck my jaw with a Wham!
The force was truly with him, I saw stars around me warring for ascendancy. 
Stunned, I looked at him with eyes widened to Rolex-free chapattis.   
A moment later, like a house of cards amidst strong winds emerging from one’s rear, I collapsed to the ground.


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