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Old 10-17-2003, 02:56 PM
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Yet another I churned out

Wrath
By Paul Benvin

“You’re not such a hard ass now, are you,” Mark screamed as he pummeled the stranger with the bat. Horrified onlookers watched in disbelief as the man’s face broke apart with every swing. Blood was pooling in the street, and with every dull thud of wood on bone, the crowd that had gathered recoiled in shock. Mark Jameson was losing control again, and this time it wouldn’t be constrained.

Most of the time, mark was an easygoing man. Standing at 5’7” tall and weighing only 165, he was by no means an intimidating person. But when pushed the right way, his temper could explode like a long dormant volcano. He had lost control only once before, but a man was hospitalized for numerous broken bones because of it. A very embarrassing court case ensued, and Mark was forced to pay restitution to the man and attend anger management classes. That alone was enough to persuade him to get a grip on the bubbling just beneath the surface any time he felt himself losing control. Besides, he had a beautiful wife-he called her baby, among other silly little pet names-and a wonderful newborn boy waiting for him each day when he got home from work.

The temperature that day reached an almost intolerable 95 degrees. His 1992 Ford F-150 had quit producing cool air long ago, and now he found himself stuck in traffic. Backed up like a constipated turd, as Mark would say. Mary hated when he used analogies like that, but then again that was one of the reasons she fell in love with him in the first place.

As Mark sat there, his body drenched in sweat, everything around him began to eat away at his patience. He glanced in the rear view mirror and watched with his penetrating brown eyes as the tiny beads of condensation coursed down his face. The maddening symphony of car horns blaring away as people yelled from the comfort of their air-conditioned luxury vehicles made him grind his teeth in disgust. Just where the fuck did they have to be in such a hurry? What makes them so damned special? The monster inside him was beginning to stir.

“Come on,” the man in the jet black SUV screamed as he slammed his hand down on the steering wheel. “I don’t have time for this shit!”

Mark noticed the SUV begin to inch forward, and he clenched his fists so hard his knuckles turned a pasty white.

“No way asshole,” he muttered to himself. “Don’t even try it.”

The man began to make his way over, and Mark reciprocated by closing the gap between himself and the car in front of him. The man saw this and rolled down his window.

“Hey man, can I get over?”

“Fuck you,” Mark replied as he extended his middle finger. “Stay put.”

“Excuse me,” the man replied with a shocked look on his face. It was like he couldn’t believe someone was actually talking to him in such a way.

“You heard me,” Mark screamed back. A large vein was now starting to protrude from his forehead.

Warning or not, the man was determined. He stepped on the gas and the jeep surged forward, stopping inches away from Mark’s front bumper. This sent him into a full-blown frenzy, and he reached into the back seat for the bat. The monster was awake now, and it wanted to breath fire on anything that got in its way.

“Come on,” he screamed as he got out of his truck. “Come on!”

He swung the bat, shards of glass spraying the man’s face as the passenger side window shattered. Mark was now panting, strings of saliva hanging from his mouth. He was looking through eyes that were no longer human. Everything he saw now had a slight red tinge.

The man was already half out of his SUV when Mark slammed the bat down on his shin, breaking it in two. He let out a shriek of both pain and submission, instantly bringing his hands down to the distorted limb. Again the bat connected, this time with the back of his head. The man tumbled from the driver’s seat onto the pavement, the gaping hole in his cranium gushing thick torrents of gore. The unrelenting attack continued, and with every blow the now lifeless body became less recognizable. Teeth were missing and broken, and the once smooth contours of the face were now twisted masses of flesh and bone. With one final strike, the bat splintered and broke, bringing to an end the horrendous assault.

“Freeze!”

Mark stood with his back to the cops, the jagged end of the bat still clutched in his hand. He was staring down at the pile of mush at his feet, and knew at once that his life would never be the same. His wife was gone. His baby was gone. Most of all, his freedom was gone. He had lost it all in a matter of minutes, all because he couldn’t control the demon inside him. He couldn’t go to prison, but then again he couldn’t possibly allow this thing inside him to continue to absorb his soul any longer. A single tear ran down his blood caked face as he turned around to face the police.

“Put the weapon down!”

He didn’t respond. He began to walk toward them, visions of his life warping through his mind. Thirty feet from them, he broke into a full sprint with the bludgeon raised high above his head.

The bullets ripped through his body, causing it to flail and shake in a convulsive dance of the damned. As Mark Jameson fell to his knees, the final shot slammed into his right eye, blowing it apart with violent precision. His final thought was of his family, waiting at home for him to pull into the driveway.
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