Six Sentence Sunday: Full Metal Librarian XXXIII (Rage)

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 Last week, someone broke into Clyota’s police-sealed house before Clyota and the Pressman could—some people are so inconsiderate:

Rage trumped exhaustion.

“Stay here,” I said, and broke into a low run.  The crunch of frozen grass echoed in my frozen ears, but the target’s ski mask blocked more than the wind; I made it halfway across the lawn before I was spotted.

He reacted instinctively, raising the lockbox for a moment as if to deflect my charge, then dropping it to assume a defensive stance a bare moment before I leapt and hit him like a ton of fast-moving bricks. 

I didn’t have my HushMaster or sap with me—the handcuffs would have come in handy, too, and a stunner, since I was making a list—but I’ve always been good at subduing belligerent Patrons in hand-to-hand. 

And Library Rules don’t apply in my own front yard.

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Previous Installments:
First ♦ Second ♦ Third ♦ Fourth ♦ Fifth ♦ Sixth
Seventh ♦ Eighth ♦ Ninth ♦ Tenth ♦ Eleventh ♦ Twelfth  ♦ Thirteenth
Fourteenth ♦ Fifteenth ♦ Sixteenth ♦ Seventeenth
Eighteenth ♦ Nineteenth ♦ Twentieth ♦ Twenty-first ♦ Twenty-second
Twenty-third ♦ Twenty-fourth ♦ Twenty-fifth ♦ Twenty-sixth
Twenty-seventh ♦ Twenty-eighth ♦ Twenty-nine ♦ Thirty
Thirty-one ♦ Thirty-second