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No One Knows the Half of It

My rage roiled deep inside of me, a whirling storm of fire, pain, and destruction. It started in heart and in my head, twin springs bursting forth. Hot springs of emarassment that turned to hatred even as they boiled along the length of my arms and down my legs and back again; a looping need begging me to lash out. It filled me the same way that depression blanketed me- totally.

I had to keep my anger under control. I envisioned myself as a great concrete dam. As long as I was in control the dam was whole. If I let even the smallest part of my rage be known, the walls would crumble under the torrent of my passion, which once unleashed, would sweep me along a path of rage-filled chaos. Nothing would be sacred while that madness lasted.

My skin burned. I clamped down on my jaw, grinding my teeth together, so hard that I could feel the pulse of my neck muscles. All I could do was stare stonily ahead.

“Fuck you, you fat fuck! Say something. Do something. I dare you.” came the call. Hands shoved me.

SNAP

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