Anger Delusions Rampant

My imagination likes to play with me. This time it did so while I was angry.

I’m trembling with anger. It bounces around through my bones and muscles, demanding that it be set free. But I don’t want to be angry. I’m not supposed to be.
That seems pointless to think, though. Especially when I find that I have to lock my arm in place to keep from throwing the glass of soda I’m holding. It’s made of hard blue plastic. The image of me managing to shatter it anyway is too clear.
Blue plastic would crack as it first bounces off the television, then splits against the hard wooden set of cabinets. The TV screen would dent inward, the plastic frame around it would crack and send the thing toppling. Bubbly orange liquid would splash over everything. It wouldn’t be enough. It isn’t enough.
I move to the chaos, stepping around broken blue plastic pieces. My fist goes through the screen of the television, which hurts. Soda makes the bottoms of my feet feel sticky. I growl. Then the sleek black laptop from the floor is in my hands. It makes them feel sticky too, since it got splashed as well. And that doesn’t matter when I swing it and hit the TV and its cabinet in a single arc of motion. Then again. And a third time. The laptop breaks in half. I’m satisfied.
In that delusion I am, anyway. Standing here trembling, staring at the blank TV screen and closed laptop while sipping as calmly as I can at my soda, I am not.

Author's Note

Anything you find worth commenting about, please do. All reviews are welcome.

Reviews

[Jack The Rabbit]

I like this piece as well, since I know exactly what that's like.

I love how you write the anger as more of a freedom than anything else, then rip it away with 'standing there trembling, staring at the blank TV screen and closed laptop while sipping as calmly as I can at my soda, I am not'. It's so sudden.