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Something Else

February 28, 2013

“Fuck you!” he angrily cried down the phone line and stabbed his thumb on the off key to disconnect the line. He fumed in silence as his anger grew into a rage.

It was almost as if he could feel his blood beginning to boil and suddenly he snapped.

He threw the mobile with all of his strength – strength that was almost doubled because of his anger. The phone flew through the air and hit the window. With a loud shattering of glass the phone flew through the window and out into the dark sky beyond.

There was no light outside and the atmosphere fit his mood. Completely. Dark venomous clouds suffocated the night sky, cruelly cutting off light from above that might have calmed his torrential emotions. Even the street lamp below was dark, a product of the blackout that was affecting the entire suburb tonight.

Cold, icy wind blew in through the broken window, extinguishing the flames dancing atop the candles scattered haphazardly around the room.

He froze as he was suddenly surrounded by darkness. But now that his fury had been unleashed there would be no stopping it.

With a sort of maniacal glee he hoped that the phone had shattered into a thousand pieces when it had hit the concrete below. Or if, on the off chance, someone had been walking along the sidewalk in the dark, that the force of the blow had damaged or even killed them.

Reaching out his left hand he grabbed the ornament he knew was there and angrily threw it towards the wall. It smashed against the plaster and even in the darkness he could hear the paint rip away from the wall and the cold metal drive a dent into the plaster.

A second later a chair followed the path of the statue and then another. Wood splintered and material teared as objects flew across the room.

The madness continued for at least a quarter of an hour, and when at last his rage was spent he slowly sank down against the door. Anger turned to pity and within seconds his entire body was shaking and tears flowed down the contours of his face.

Great sobs tore at his throat and gripped his insides like a giant pair of tongs squeezing his chest and lungs, stopping the air from escaping.

His head fell back against the wall and as he closed his eyes he could feel the cold air streaming through the broken window freezing the water on his face.

Any heat in the room had been sucked out through the shattered glass. His anger and grief drained away with the increasing cold. He didn’t stand though, he didn’t cover the window, relight the candles or turn up the heat. No he just sat where he was and stared out into the darkness.

His boss – what a joke, he didn’t listen to the bastard anyway, demanded, demanded for fucks sake, that he pull himself together. To hell with him. It came back to money once again, this time he was being accused of wasting it. Wasting money? He never wasted money. He did what he wanted when he wanted and all the others could get screwed.

You had to take a chance to get a result, why didn’t they all understand that? You had to make an investment to get returns. He knew that. He had made plenty of investments throughout both his personal life and his public one. But it wasn’t the money. No, it was the effort. All that wasted effort.

Suddenly the lights in the room came on as electricity flowed once more through various wires and systems in the flat. Outside the streetlights below also came back on as power returned to the entire street.

Blinking sudden tears out of his eyes because of the harshness of the light, he looked around the room.

He then began to laugh.

The place was a mess, a disaster area. He had bloody well trashed the joint. He laughed loudly and shook his head.

Groaning, he slowly rose to his feet. He looked at the window and decided nothing could be done about it for now, he’d leave it until morning.

He shuffled his feet and headed off to his bedroom and the warmth of his bed.

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