It had been a long time since I had lashed out in violent rage. Years, as far as I can remember. I had left violence and physical conflict escalation behind me with my youth.
Today, just a little while ago, I snapped.
I could bottle up no more, I was out of control with no desire to return to sanity. IT had given me all I could take. Years of to and fro, back and forth, frustration, rejection, all had slowly led to ITs own dehumanization. IT no longer bore any connection to humanity for me. IT was now just IT, nothing more than an inanimate pronoun, less than an idea. IT had certainly not resembled that which IT once did, that which I had taken into my life so intimately, for quite some time. I was overtaken by compulsion - IT had to die.
I could taste the blood in my mouth from biting my tongue all these years. I suddenly had an unquenchable taste for the blood – bloodlust they call that. As my closed fist swung through the air, as my hand opened and released IT to crash on the floor, I felt no remorse for IT. There was not an iota of compassion in me for IT, not an ounce of regret for the damage I was doing to IT. I actually enjoyed watching the life-light leaving IT.
I watched myself in dispassion as without my command my foot kicked IT hard. I was unhappy with the lack of painful scream emanating from IT, so I kicked IT again and again.
When I still got an unsatisfactory response, I began to stomp on IT. Repeated stomping, as hard as my crippled body could manage still did not satisfy me. My newfound bloodlust would brook no withdrawal, no retreat to calm. I grabbed IT and drug IT up from the floor, and in my mind’s eye I could see my own face, an evil, wicked, frightening grin of sadistic pleasure on my lips, hate and anger and rage in my eyes. I resembled no one I had ever seen in a mirror.
Yet there was no stopping now, the deed must be done to completion. I smashed IT back on the floor with all my strength, and resumed stomping until there could be no doubt that IT was dead. Several violent minutes went by before I was finally satiated by ITs decisively dead and battered remains on the floor.
Peace and calm finally took hold again of my body, my mind, but they came too late to save IT.
Do not grieve for IT. IT feels no pain now. IT is permanently at rest, and that is as it should be. ITs time was long since over. Our time was overdue for an ending.
And do not grieve for me. I am free of IT, and I feel the freedom coursing through my veins, like meth and opium and all those addictive illicit drugs rolled up in a tootsie-roll of freedom. I am happy IT is dead, and you should be happy for me. Somehow I think IT would also be happy for me, if IT weren’t… y’know… dead. I want to sing, free and proud and strong, an anthem to freedom that has yet to be written.
My only regret was that I could not control the dragon within me until my daughter was not nearby. She witnessed ITs death in shock and horror, and will probably not speak to me for quite some time. She’s a bit sensitive that way. I can tell she’s very upset about the death of IT, and about having to witness her father kill IT in such a fit of uncontrollable rage.
I think she might be a little scared that I was angry with her. I wasn’t, and none of this was her fault. I don’t really understand why she’s so upset about all of this.
IT was just a cell phone, fer cryin’ out loud!