A few (*cough* more than ten *cough*) years ago, I was a freshman in college. About nineteen years old, and pretty much alone except during class times, lunch times, and weekends. Which really sucked, when I was in Theater Appreciation (useless class).
See, one of the requirements of the class was that I had to see two of the three plays. All playing at night, during the week. And did I mention that I'm under five foot tall, and have always had a rack that wouldn't look out of place on a woman a foot taller than me?
And that, at that time, I was suffering from the aftermath of a PE injury to my knee in high school, and gimping around on a cane whenever it was cold?
The play was in mid-February. I was heading back to my dorm at about ten, and I noticed I was being followed. By a grungy-looking man in his late thirties or forties. Who hurried up to catch up to me when I turned the corner and got out of sight of the small crowd leaving the theater.
I will fully acknowledge that that scared the holy living shit out of me. I was nineteen, a small woman under five feet tall, and under a hundred pounds at the time, and crippled. I looked like the perfect target: helpless prey.
I got off the sidewalk to ground I walked across every day, and knew where the uneven footing was and what it was like, snapped my cane up off the ground and slapped across my other palm, feet spread and braced, staring Mr. Creepy down. He muttered something, and then yells to me that he got turned around, and could I tell him where the library was (across the quad, brightly lit--the only building that was at that time of night).
I'm pretty sure that he thought that, at the very least, he'd be coming out of any possible encounter injured, and perhaps badly (and he'd have been right--my cane? An inch diameter hickory stick with a knob handle on one end, and a rubber crutch foot on the other). Made me not worth it.
I'll be honest--I'd have probably gotten hurt pretty bad. But my plan was to try to take out a knee, then jab the knob end into his face as hard as I could, then slam it down into his throat if I could.
It isn't the weapon that's the dangerous part of any equation. It's the person holding it.
I am not dangerous because I carry a gun. Not to the standard, every-day, law-abiding schmuck.
I am dangerous to those who think that I am prey. Because I am not, and have never been.
6 minutes ago