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Originally posted to the late Nocturnis.net. Blanket of Anger By Lisa Fleishman

A little feeling gnaws at the back of my brain. My abrupt awakening to the sounds of police sirens screaming past my window started it, although if that hadn't triggered it, something else surely would have. A cockroach floating in my corn flakes ruined any sort of appetite for food I might have had.

Now the only hunger I feel is for violence. The pit of my stomach churns, nearly doubling me over, and I consciously try not to grit my teeth. Grabbing a bit of fresh air seemed a good idea, but as I stepped onto the streets, a large diesel truck passed by spewing its exhaust into my path. I flipped the driver off as I fought back the urge to gag.

This city is killing me.

Paranoia.

How charming.

Still, I can't help but believe it's true.

The smog warnings are out in full force today, the friendly little bitch on the morning news told me so, not that I need her bubbly commentary to make me aware of the fact. I wish I could have reached through the TV and strangled her for all of the viewers to see. I bet it would have boosted their ratings.

My muscles hurt. My barely constrained rage makes them ache as the rational side of my persona maintains control over the sickened monster that howls at the injustice of the miracles of modern technology. The heat of the day is already starting to build. I look to the sky, a piss blue color, compliments of all of the yuppies and their gas guzzling vehicles. The result is an oily feeling breeze that tries to contaminate me. The throngs of humanity are blissfully unaware. I almost scream at them, I know that they collectively shout at me, even if they don't know it. They say, "Be like us. Have what we have, live like we live, wallow in the filth, and decay, and misery. Ignore it like we do, after all there's another new episode of fucking ER on tonight to take your mind away from it all." The thought of their complacency nearly drives me over the edge, but there's my sane companion again, reminding me of the Litany, telling me I am stereotyping, soothing my all too frayed nerves with rationalizations and excuses.

I am not a happy camper, and people seem to sense it and stay the hell out of my way as I purposefully stride to nowhere. The only one who has the nerve to get in my way is some addle brained old man who pesters me for my spare change for some charity or another.

I give him some charity.

I let him live.

I know that I need to calm down; I am so dangerously close to losing control. One wrong look from some poor asshole is all it would take.

I almost invite it. My calm compadre distracts me: first making me recite the alphabet in reverse, and then coaxing me to have a seat on a bus bench.

I stink. They say when you can smell yourself it must be bad. A combination of b.o., exhaust fumes, and quiet desperation seeps through my pores and assaults my nose. I try to bat it away, as if it were an annoying little gnat buzzing my ear.

I wish I could weep. I know it would make me feel better, at least temporarily. But my heart has grown too cold for such gentle expressions of emotion. I think about Janet. God I miss her, almost as much as I want to kill her. One time too many I got heavy handed with her. I never meant it, never planned it. Still, I'm guilty as charged. She said I had changed, she begged me to see a shrink or some damn thing.

She never knew the truth.

The fault for that is mine, of course. I should have told her. Ah, there's my rational partner again, listing the million and one reasons why she could never know. I tell him to fuck off. But in all honesty, I never wanted to lay a hand on her. It just happened.

I ponder what a sick little individual I am. I would have slaughtered someone else for doing what I did. Hypocrite is my name.

When I feel safe to move on, I do so. I look no one in the eye; it's best that they not see what stares back at them.

The calm voice in the back of my brain assures me that I just woke up on the wrong side of the bed. Tomorrow will be better. There's always tomorrow.

What a lie.

Time runs out with every beat of my heart. I grimace at the injustice. I'll never grow old and die the peaceful death of an elderly man. A pang of jealousy streaks through my anger. Why can't I be normal, and ignorant? At least the ignorant don't know what's coming.

I know. That knowledge is eating me alive.

It's time for me to return home. I can't witness anymore today.

Maybe I'll be fortunate and be murdered in my sleep. At least I wouldn't have to suffer through this endless anger anymore.