Previous Challenge Entry (Level 2 – Intermediate)
Topic: Rage (violent, uncontrolled hatred and anger) (02/05/15)
- TITLE: Boiling Over
By Ken Grant
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Again his reflexes kicked in and hatred for the enemy boiled to the surface. Paul spun toward the target and prepared to launch.
"Paul, stop, please."
He was paralyzed as he fought against his training. They had taught him to use his rage as a weapon. He had learned to direct his anger in the most violent of ways. But the poor being kneeling before him was not the enemy. She was his wife. He loved her. Love felt so much different from rage.
"What have you done, Paul?"
He looked again at the results of his anger boiling over. The man had entered his home and now that man lay dead. He had killed the man without a thought. It had been as easy as snapping a twig. In the moment it had been so satisfying, but now it felt extremely cold.
"You're not at war anymore."
"It's all I know."
"Come, sit down."
His wife led him into the living room. He felt like a young child being directed by a caring mother. They had no children, but he knew that she would be a wonderful mom. He sat down in a daze.
"I have to call the police."
He nodded distractedly. The world felt distant and he felt as though he was cut in two. He had done what he was trained to do. He had used his anger to fell the enemy. Why was that wrong?
"I called the police."
His wife hugged him intensely. He wanted to respond, but he felt empty. He didn't feel love. In fact, he didn't feel anything. Was that the cost of war? If it was then it was a very high price to pay. A harsh rap on the door caused his wife to leap to her feet to answer the door. He heard words exchanged and then men entered his home. He jumped to his feet and prepared to defend his home. The boiling inside was overwhelming. He felt like he had to act.
His wife's pleading words again were all that had saved him.
"Please go with them. Please go quietly. Don't do anything."
The words were barely able to break through the fog. Slowly he calmed down and allowed himself to be led away.
"I did it for you," He said pleadingly to his wife. "It was all for you."
"I know. I love you."
He had committed a crime. He had taken a life. His anger had boiled over. He was a weapon and a weapon sometimes had to be put away for the safety of all. He could live with that. He had to.
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