Initiative.

The judo master made his way home. It had been a long, depressing day at the dojo. The new batch of students seldom fell without whining, and he never fared well with this.
He made his way to the train station. In a moment, the next train arrived.
The master stepped in. Sat. The train moved on to the next stop.
A drunk old man stumbled in, shouting and cursing at the ceiling, the floor and all things inbetween.

The master stared.

The drunk staggered over to the young woman, whose face was buried within her novel. He slapped it from her hands and stepped on its crisp, white pages.

The master stared still. 'If he did that to me, I'd make a mess out of him.' he thought.

The drunk, quite finished with the poor woman, set his sights on the elderly man beside her. He shoved, cursed at and even slapped the man, who in frightened stupor immediately left the train at the next stop.

'If he even thinks about laying a finger on me, he's a dead man.' muttered the master as he watched from the opposite bench. He clutched his bag tight with rage at the drunk's dearth of respect.

The drunkard swaggered over to the boy beside the master. A torrent of obscenities, certainly unfit for the ears of such a youth, poured from the drunkard's purple, enraged face. The boy burst into tears, and he ran off as well.

The master couldn't wait for his turn with the drunkard. He'd finally get back at him for the havoc and disrespect he had dealt to those around him. The master's eyes glared in furious anticipation. Only he was left.

The drunk man turned his head to the master. They exchanged stares. The drunkard gave a grunt and as he moved his foot forward, the master's hands freed themselves of his baggage. 'Go ahead. Do something.' he thought. 'I'm ready.'



The drunkard walked out of the train.

The master, dumbfounded, looked around him.



-Zan