A story about Rage.
They curse and yell. They make lewd hand gestures and then act as if nothing happened. As if we are all supposed to forget about the rage in the room.
It places itself in the corner, perched on the ceiling, waiting. It grins, knowing it has come to the right place. It’s used regularly. If it were paid by the hour, it would be rich.
It doesn’t need money, though. It feeds on resentment. Drinks itself into a drunken slumber on hate. It bathes in tears. Its prosperity is high on foul language and the screams of words you can never take back, no matter how many apologies you offer.
You don’t mean it. It knows that and it knows you. You will never change. You offer up false kisses and empty hugs only to step back and never realize the harm you’ve done.
Rage knows. Rage is excited to fill the room once more when the time is right. When the air is thick with every emotion it craves.
The only thing rage fears is change. It fears the day you open your eyes. The day you realize you’re wrong.
It fears your insightful conversations. Its fears your forgiveness. It fears the day you let go of resentment and hate. It fears the day you step back to breathe in the rage and exhale peace.
For then, it will starve. Its riches lay bare. It crawls out of your space longing for the next soul to feed.
Until then, you give it all it needs to become stronger. Its smile widens as it bares its grisly grin – dripping, salivating, licking its chops for one more fight.