The October Music, Stanza 2, Verse 2 - Day 2

So Emotional

            The sound of glass breaking wakes you up. You grab the bat you always keep near your bed for reasons just like this. Reasons you hope you never have except in that one tiny part of your heart where you wish desperately that you do. You creep down the hallway as you hear rummaging and smashing. You feel your breath heaving in your chest as your footsteps fall softly upon the carpet. Downstairs, in the darkness, someone is there. Someone uninvited. Someone greedy and careless.

            You are no longer alone in your home. There is another person and they are taking from you.

            The wood in your hands is smooth and rigid. Your hands slip just a little from sweat and nerves, but you slowly, slowly, slowly make your way down the stairs to the living room. There, silhouetted by the streetlights, a figure moves gracelessly, clumsily. A drawer is pulled out and tossed to the ground, the contents spilling out in waves of useless junk. The figure mutters to itself, cursing and wondering if it should go elsewhere.

            Your grip tightens as step by step you enter the living room. The figure doesn’t hear you. It doesn’t see you. It is too focused on feeding its greed. It doesn’t notice when you approach. It doesn’t notice when you pull the bat back. It doesn’t notice when you swing the bat forward with as much force as your muscles can provide. It does, however, briefly notice as the solid oak connects with the side of its face, crushing bone and sending blood flying.

            It is down, crumpled on the floor, senseless and defanged. Time to call the police. Time to bring the authorities in to resolve this intrusion peacefully. Or.

            Or.

            You swing again. And again. Wood and the rush of anger in your veins collide with filthy intruder skin and bone. Little noises pour from its mouth along with a torrent of blood. Something pops and spatters against your skin. You don’t notice. You swing until your arms grow tired and something dark and viscous drips thickly from the bat.

            Then you call the police.

            Losing your temper. Losing your mind. Exploding. Erupting. All euphemisms designed to mitigate the deep core of anger. You run hot, you detonate, then you cool off and behave rationally. This is how people work. In theory.

            What happens when it doesn’t work that way? What happens when you wake in the night and find someone has intruded on your property? Someone has broken into your home, your sanctuary, your protected place? Someone is attempting to take what you have worked for? Someone who could harm you and your loved ones? What place does anger hold there?
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            Do you ‘crash out’? Or do you find something else within yourself? Something darker, more primeval? Something that sees the intrusion as not a violation, but an opportunity? Predator becomes prey and all that. Do you let fear and anger wash over you or do you become…hungry?