Rage

When I even think of him, the feeling wells up in me. The burning starts somewhere down near the base of my stomach and rises quickly, like a sponge absorbing liquid hate, up through my torso. When the flow hits my shoulders it’s all directed towards the narrow conduit that is my neck, it has no choice but to accelerate straight up to my brain. Physics. The physics of rage.

My head fills, pushing out whatever thoughts were in there previously. Whatever I’m doing comes to a halt while I think of revenge. Murderous, dark ideas present themselves. So clear. So easy. I could kill him just like that. Walk up behind him while he waits for the train and stab the place where his heart should be. So easy.

But this is not me. I’m kind, gentle, understanding. Or I was. Until he crossed me. He took advantage of my good qualities to get what he wanted, and then moved on leaving me to deal with this fiery reservoir of fury.

So now it really is me. Several times a day it’s me. Ignoring the world around in favor of indulging darkest fantasy. Giving in to the anger. Feeling the adhesion of bad flowing into good, like I’m studying a natural phenomenon. I’m a scientist, studying the infusion. A very, very mad scientist. Breaking new ground in the field of rage.