Wrath

[pbenvin]

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 to the breaking point, 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 appearance 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 and noodle, among other silly little pet names – and a wonderful baby boy waiting for him each day when he got home from work. No matter what was going on in his life, he could always rely on his family to be there for him when he finally eased his truck into the driveway.

For the most part they were a happily married couple, going about their everyday lives as married people do. Mark was the sole breadwinner, and Mary stayed home and took care of the house and child. She didn’t seem to mind it much, either. Sometimes she would get upset when he had to stay over a few hours, but deep down inside she understood that some sacrifices would have to be made. He never cheated on her, and as far as he knew she never did either. Up and down, thick and thin, they vowed to tough it out no matter what. Both of them knew that as long as they loved and cared for one another, everything would eventually work itself out.

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. All he wanted to do was get home and relax. 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, and he slammed his fist down on the dashboard with such force it produced a small crack in the plastic.

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

Mark noticed the car 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, rolling his eyes as he did so.

“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 barked back. A large vein was now starting to protrude from his forehead. “You can just wait like everyone else.”

Warning or not, the man was determined. In his world of top-notch sports cars and luxury hotels, he could probably get away with forcing his way in and getting what he wanted. People would fall all over themselves to cater to this smug bastard, running around like chickens with no heads trying to satisfy his every request.

“Well not this time, pal, not this time at all,” Mark whispered to himself. He was grinding his teeth so hard the muscles in his jaw were pumping rhythmically, first one side then the other.

Mr. Mercedes stepped on the gas pedal and the vehicle 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 that hit so many home runs in the company softball league. 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. Mark stomped to the front of the man’s car, and with another deft strike smashed in both of the headlights. People were exiting their cars all around him now, shouting and pleading for Mark to stop. One man whistled loudly when Mark brought the bat down on the windshield, causing a spider web of cracks to snake off in a million directions. Another woman covered her eyes, shielding them from what she knew was the inevitable.

The man was half out of his hotshot automobile 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 man’s 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.

Mark was so overcome with his own mania that he never heard the sirens and never saw the flashing blue and red lights.

“Freeze!”

Mark stood with his back to the cops, his head bowed, breathing in ferocious bursts like a bull getting ready to charge. The jagged end of the bloody bat was still clutched in his hand. As he stared down at the pile of mush at his feet, he knew at once that his life would never be the same, could never be the same. His wife would be gone. His baby would be gone. Most of all, his freedom would be 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. He saw Mary, holding their baby boy as she spun around in circles, both of them laughing as she went faster and faster. He saw them falling asleep together on the couch, the television tuned to one of those goofy makeover shows his wife liked so much. Mark could never understand what was so special about those programs, but if Mary liked them then who was he to complain.

Thirty feet from the police, with memories of a life now over, he broke into a full sprint with the bludgeon raised high above his head. Something inside him let out a wicked roar, knowing once and for all that it would never be able to destroy another life. The fact that it was going to be flushed from this earth made it rage.

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 and sending chunks of his skull and brain matter spraying all over the pavement. His final thought was of his family, waiting at home for him to pull into the driveway. And then it all went black.