Anger and Morality

From In Love with a Mental Case

In my life I walk between anger and morality. The anger inside of my body makes me do things that the morality finds wrong. I have morals but they are different than other people’s. When you have a problem your priorities change. They change from what they were to what they are and they change depending on what is wrong or what isn’t. Things change when I get angry.

I don’t think about the morals. Morals are the things that make us question to kill or not to kill. To care or not to care. To live or not to live. Those are the things that make us make good or bad decisions. I normally chose the latter. Does that make me a bad person? Maybe. Do I care? Not really. You might say that you could pray to make things better but I can’t. No, I don’t pray because there is no god that can save me from myself now. There is no powerful being that could fix this problem for me or for my anger. Nothing can stop it once it starts. Maybe an angel could. Maybe if he finds me in time he could try to stop it for me. But I cannot help him. If he wants to challenge the demon that is his job alone. 

I learned once that the devil dances. Well maybe I like to dance too. To dance and to play and to party. I heard it is like a rave down there. Lights and action and parties and women and men and nakedness and power. So much power and we all have it. It’s hot there. It’s boiling and beautiful and filled with fire. That same fire that I have raging within myself. The fire that the angel cannot put out but has a chance to tame if he is strong enough. I call that fire the beast. The beast has come out of his cage now. He’s broken the lock and burned it among my humanity in the fiery pit that is supposedly my hell. He is out roaming the streets among people that run from him in terror.

When I decide to let the anger take over I cannot think about the other part. The other part is morality. But what is morality without anger? Could they exist without each other? For a long time I thought they could. I thought they had nothing to do with each other and that maybe if I found my own morals I could use them to my advantage and not get so angry but I was wrong.

Morality. That part of my body shuts down. All that is left is anger. Anger makes me think about hate. It gives me power and raging fury that pushes from my bones into the world around me and then suddenly all I see is red. And when all I see is red the only thing I want is blood. I don’t always know why. I never really ask that question. It doesn’t matter to me. I take that hate and I ball it up into red hot fury and all I can see is blood dripping from my fingertips onto a clean white floor. The anger is not satisfied until the morality is dead. It tears it apart with it’s teeth. It digs its claws into the flesh of morality and pulls the skin open, letting the organs fall out. The anger feeds on the organs of morality, eating away at them until there is nothing left. Not until it is good and gone does the anger feel better. Not until it is good and dead and bloody and gory and rotting does the anger feel like it can breathe. After it takes the morals of life it takes its pride, its integrity and everything in between. 

Anger steps back, proud of what it has done and smiles. It smiles because it has won! It has won! It. Has. Won.

I have won.

I have taken moralities power and I have stomped it into the underworld. I have destroyed it’s very root of existence and buried it under concrete so that the world may never know what it is like to be moral. They may never know the nice Genevieve. They won’t ever understand the one that loved to laugh and dance and play and goof off. She died with the morals. Everything good will die with her. She doesn’t have time to care because she’s dead. But this Vee is the one left standing. 

This is the one that feels pure red, hot fury running through her bloody veins. She is the one that looks down at the hot massacre of a family she left behind. She watches the blood pour from her victims, watches it drip down her own hands. She seethes as death finally falls upon them and their screams die down to a small quake of terror. She looks on them with happiness. Their screams fill her joy. She feeds on their strife, on how they argue and scream at each other and at her. She feeds on their terror and their hate. She takes it from them like a final prize that is waiting for her on the stage. She takes it from them like a trophy to be showed to the world.

There is a hole inside of this girl. It is an empty, insatiable hole. It cannot be filled and it cannot be satisfied. It will always want more. It will always need more. More! More! More hate that makes her want to kill! More chaos that descends upon everyone and everything in terror! More power that will allow her to do what she will with these people that are her victims in the end! She needs more of everything. So as she takes it from the people, she smiles. She smiles because they are giving her just what she needs to continue, to continue to live, to continue to be her and to be proud of what she has done.

She does not care whose life she takes. She will take the women that sat in front of her on the bus with a voice too loud. She will take the child that kicked her seat on the airplane. She will take the man that told her she couldn’t do that. She will take her own friend. She will take her own neighbor. She will take her own mother. And she will smile and beg for more because no amount will satisfy that insatiable hole.

And when nothing will satisfy her craving, she will dance. She will dance with the power that rages inside of her from all of her killings. She will let the hate come in and come in and it will never stop. She won’t let it. She will take anyone down with her. It doesn’t matter who they are. Queen of England or a hobo. She’d take them for her satisfaction…for her envy…for her passion.

She decided a long time ago that she had to start practicing if she was going to get as good as the devil. If she were going to take his job"to become him she would have to start practicing. She has been practicing for years. She’s getting pretty good, almost too good. Sometimes the devil stares at her with envy, wishing he could be just as she is. She’s almost ready to descend and she’s okay with that. She is happy with it. She’s almost ready to end everything. She is almost ready to take that final job and become his forever.

Only one question reigns in her mind as she hopes for that perfect, simple descent. Will the angel save her? She doesn’t think about it.  If he is good, he will come but even the best cannot save the devil. Even god himself could not bring him back so what could a mere angel do to help the devil’s usurper? She doesn’t think that he is even around to try. 

She is wrong. 

Apparently, I practiced long enough to get good. If you think you might have that insatiable hole inside of you, you can come. But you better be ready to dance with the devil"and me. I still plan to take his place. I still plan to get that good. I will keep practicing, keep feeding that hole inside me.

There is something white touching my arm. And an all white room. The smell of blood. The smell of hot, dripping blood. I can feel it on my skin though, I don’t know where it is coming from. I ask myself but I get no answer.

White is everywhere. White is not what I wanted. White is not red. White will not satisfy.

Then I no longer see white but black. Pure black as the rage subsides with every other emptiest that I have ever felt in my life.  I thought black would be like red but I am wrong. It is similar to white, taking away my red anger with every passing moment. But black is worse. It is dark and dangerous but only for me because in the dark even the strongest of villains cannot see their enemy. Now I am only left with something simple. Something dark, yet not dark enough. 

Black.

Just black.

And I am dancing by myself.

Author's Note

I have not been on in a while, but I think I should get back to it while I still have the opportunity. This is a section of my new book, "In Love with a Mental Case" about a young girl with Intermittent Explosive Disorder who falls in love with a psychotic teen.

Reviews

[KeithEBaucum]

You are a talented writer. I enjoy reading your art work.

[Brittany Bostic]

Thank you so much!

[jacob erin-cilberto]

no one can bring us out of that darkness but ourselves...it is a precarious dance, for sure.

interesting juxtaposition here...almost like she is both parties involved...the two selves dancing with the devil in the moonlight.

[Brittany Bostic]

Thank you for your review and kind words, Jacob