The first man cuffed the second man round the chops, which, written like that, using the word ‘cuff’, makes it sound like a softer action than it actually was. Like two shirts colliding in a wardrobe.
In retaliation, the second man slugged the first man, and this time my choice of words makes it sound wetter than in reality, given there was no blood, no flesh squishing like dropped fruit. Just a dull pain.
The first man should have been ready to evade the slugging but his attention had been caught by something happening off… somewhere off camera, or to the side of the scene, and this distracted him from the movement of the second man preparing to return the punch. Perhaps there was a third man or a woman. If this figure existed, he or she was hiding behind a plant or maybe a sofa, depending on whether the scene was set in a garden centre or a furniture store. I didn’t really mind.
I was lying on my back, on the couch, writing this down on a piece of paper that was resting on a book. I looked away from what was happening in the words on the piece of paper and glared softly at the tv.
The third man (or woman) took this pause as an opportunity to step out from behind the tree or bookcase, present him or herself to the two fighting men and to ask them, because I needed something else to happen so that I could wrap up the scene: “so what are you going to do now?”
The two men were standing in that garden or living room, or wherever, I didn’t really mind, and they were both gingerly touching their faces where it hurt from the cuffing and the slugging, whichever was which.
“Come on,” the second man said, looking the first man in the eye, “we need to settle this like real men.”
“Real men,” the first man said, or I made him say, because I decided that was what I wanted him to say, “real men never talk about what it is real men do or do not do, how they might or might not settle things.”