The Color Red

It surged within me like a cannon, lit and ready to fire. My enemies steered clear of my wrath, but this time I was far gone, my true self had separated from my body, the devil possessing my every move.
My face was beyond hot, steaming with redness, a need to hold something in my hands and rip it to shreds.
I was in complete fury, knowing of what my town was made into, knowing that my hissy fit was over and that I was now ready to go on a rampage.
My jaw clenched,I hurried to the church, with a knife in hand.
The minister was in the middle of a sermon, not looking up from his notes and bible, until my footsteps echoed through the halls.
His beady eyes looked over his glasses, but he did not look afraid like the members of the church.
“May I lead you in prayer, Mayor?” He said, sugar-coatedly.
I did not answer, but put the blade to his throat. “Tell me why you aren’t quivering beneath the blade that will decide your survival.” I said.
He answered simply, “I know I will always survive in the hands of the Lord.”

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