It astonished me at first. That a man, so clearly not insane, would order one to stop whom would never do so? But this is how things were to be. We are, and indeed, I was part of a depressed and desperate people. We're one of the six billion people who are living on a dieing planet. We are diseased in the mind, bodies, and if you like, souls. We are the collective asshole of the world.
So nothing surprises me. Not really, not anymore. Maybe I should get out of Jake every once in a while- his personality is starting to bleed into mine. It troubles me to write about a man who used to have it all, until a few dastardly chemicals in his big brain decided to go crazy... Jake was not surprised, either.
It was beyond hate; beyond contempt. It was fury past its prime: careless and unrelenting destruction. The blood that dripped down, down down... It wanted him to act. It was a crimson red river of all the things that pissed him off. It was his wife, his kids, his parents leaving him to rot. It was his time in jail and his failed boxing career. It was all the homeless people in the world who stared up at him with blank eyes and empty pockets. It was six billion people struggling to etch out a living on a rocky wasteland.
It had to go.
Let me remind you that I'm not controlling him. I'm just watching from the inside. Here is what I saw, humble reader:
I saw a man bent halfway to hell advance on a man after he spilled some words. The words do not matter; only the actions. And my man, well, he's a cryin and a cryin and wantin' his mother, but she's dead, dead, dead, and he's recalling his days in the ring, and he's walkin, walkin, walkin! And he's swingin, swingin, swingin...
Well, to put it in a roundabout way, he threw a haymaker straight at the little punk.
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