Barry was never one to walk away from a fight, and today was no exception. Things, however, were not going as planned. He was feeling a bit dazed -- God, he thought, I hope I don't have a concussion -- and the bruises on his chest were only growing more tender. A small trickle of blood crept slowly from his nose and along his upper lip; he wiped it away with the back of his hand, gritted his teeth and braced himself.
Squaring his shoulders, he lowered his head and lunged forward. He could feel the muscles in his legs beginning to tire, and his traction slipped. A sudden impact caught him on the left side of his face, shooting a flash of sparks behind his eyelids, and he stumbled. The next shot landed hard and sharp, adding yet another throbbing bruise to his chest. A final blow tipped him off his balance; his stomach tightened as he fell backwards. His knees buckled, and he felt his tailbone slam into the ground. With a final burst of self-preservation, he reached out blindly with one hand and curled his fingers around something sturdy and hard. It slowed his descent just enough to avoid smacking the back of his head and going out cold. He breathed hard.
"Barry!" Juliet cried from above, poking her head out from around the dresser, "What the hell are you doing? Can't you see that it's stuck against the wall up here? You can't just force the damned thing up the stairs! Jesus christ, look at yourself! It's like you're trying to fight a brick wall!" Exasperated, she turned and disappeared around the bend.
You may have won this time, Barry thought -- he righted himself and let go of the banister -- But just you wait. My day will come. Oh, my day will come.
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