anniversaried fff

so it's been exactly one year since my 1st ever flash fiction friday attempt. i discovered the opportunity, got all excited and wrote and posted it in about an hour, without thinking or editing. it got panned for being a little confusing, but i still like it. although, now i edit.
anyway, i think that since then, except for the weeks that jj didn't present a challenge, i've only missed 3, so i'm feeling kinda good about myself. it's also my b'day, so i'm feeling good about making it successfully through another year of life without killing somebody, too.
so, without further ado, except for the eternal bigging-up of my favourite purgatorian, here's my entry for this week (it was a closing sentence this time so you may wanna leave this link until after reading the piece, unless you doing an fff and already know what's up).
hope you enjoy...

we had faced off before, me and him. and while this might not have been our 1st battle, i intended it to be our last. embarrassment and defeat were unacceptable to me.
i’d planned and schemed all week, thinking of every possible avenue, rethinking every possible move, plotting my course and his options, covering every angle – i was so ready. there was no way he’d win. not over my dead body.
he’d come by earlier in the week, all cookies and smiles, trying to curry favour, trying to make it look like he wasn’t out to get me, but i knew. i’d known from the start that this would be the mother of all fights, and i refused to be the one going down.
after all my strategising, i’d come to a firm conclusion: he who made it to the corner of the boulevard and park first would necessarily win, since all other public access was temporarily down for various reasons – and i was pretty sure my opponent hadn’t noticed. the acquisition of ammo was part of the challenge, and as hardcore as the battle could become, the corner was paramount – somebody would get a headstart, even if he were to get beat back shortly thereafter – and i was the one who knew which corner.
if i got there first, i could hold him off. and if he got there first, i could take him easier than he could take me. so i just needed to get there as fast as possible, and be prepared to fight him down…
the night before, i chose and mapped my route carefully, avoiding jj’s dog and the fence around the thomsons’. i made sure i didn’t have to wait for lights to cross. i laid out my gear, pre-stuffed my pockets, and fell asleep memorising my map. i let the family laugh – i’d have the last guffaw in about 9hours.
i woke before my alarm, giving myself a little more time with my map. i dressed carefully, rechecked my pockets, and still fingering the slightly sticky surface, stepped outside to survey the street.
my mind replayed the challenges that led to this one, starting at the beginning when we were still an army. there had been so many of us, but the group had been thinned a few at a time, leaving just me and him for this final standoff.
i didn’t see him yet, but others were waiting, watching me to make sure i didn’t jump the gun. but i planned to beat him fair and square. i’d wait for him to show his chickenshit face.
i smiled back at my family in the doorway, shaking their heads at my determination. i knew it’d be worth it in the end. the victory would be sweet.
at 1minute to our go time, i saw his door swing open. his mother’s head cautiously twisted toward me, then ducked back inside. i heard whispering – we’d always thought our houses were a little too close, but this time, not close enough. i debated going to their yard and calling him out. i thought about the look on his smug, little face when he reached the corner of the boulevard and cheshire and found the nozzle dry – not that i expected to see it, since i’d be almost at the boulevard and park, hands already reaching for my pockets’ contents, pre-stretching as i pulled them out, anticipating their rebound, slightly stinging, snapping back on my knuckles…
i’d be embracing the standpipe as i fitted the rubbery lip of my 1st balloon to the end of its faucet, smoothly controlling the flow with the hot metal tap so as not to overfill and bust…
i’d be exploding wet bombs in his face, in his pudgy 9-year-old gut, all over his sweaty back...
yeah.
i thought i’d be winning the annual water-balloon soak-off.
i swore chickenshit’s mom had said at the last neighbourhood watch meeting that she felt shitty for not being able to afford the bike he wanted.
i remembered thinking: "...shame…fat little fuck could use the exercise, too."
i knew he didn’t know there was only one place he could fill his stash, and that with the 40-odd years i had on him there was no way he was smarter than me…
…but the little creep beat me to it.

walk good.