(flashback) Impetus: Rage

Something came unhinged, and that implacable smile lost its place on my visage.*

Upon opening the refrigerator, I saw yet another instance of theft. In some manner of stupor or amoral thought, some one ripped a hole in my last bag of frozen vegetables. And to filll the empty hole in their souls and stomachs, they consulted my last supply of carbohydrates: my tortillas. Fine. But they forgot to close the ziploc bag.

And something came unhinged. I took my eyes off God for a scant moment.

Who were these people to take my food? Last night, I cooked my simplest meal yet, while asking a neighbor, "who does this?" He answered simply, with that accent of his, "Rats. Rascals too." I nodded, not quite grasping the truth of his statement. What sort of man happily consumes that which was stolen? Are purloined goods so sweet?

In that moment, at that thought, my indignance at the thought: my hard work feeds some one else? And this undeserving someone else often smiles at me and greets me cordially!

*sigh*

The smile I lost became the hardened face of rage. In the silence, my heart hardened as well. In the clank and crack of earthenware and glass, I found release for my lachrymose moment. This same release is oft self- inflicted pain, where bleeding is abundant from accidental contact between skin and broken glass. But the sound and fury of the earthware and glass- the promise of satisfaction- it eluded me in my deaf rage. 

Not only was I deaf, I was blind. My rage made me a blind deaf- mute. I could find no verbal expression for the real question: "Why, God?" In my choked up moment, I lost the verbiosity of my poetic ponderings.

In a ragged breath, I realized that I had been holding my breath, and my heart raced. My heaet continued its errant race for another five minutes. 

Rage is like a drug. I am convinced.

-arri

* (in order to prevent an internal rhyme in my prose I avoided "face" although I could use a synonym for "place.").