Angry

Wrath, Anger. This emotion has power. It has the power to take over one’s own well-being and senses. This is fact. This is the dark truth. It’s why religion named it a sin for all the chaos it creates. And as I sit in front of my masterpiece, I come to terms with this newfound knowledge. My heart is Angry yet my mind is filled with regret. How could I have let myself come to this? Sitting here under the cover of darkness near his car made me realize what I was doing was wrong. I know he hurt me; cheated on me, lied to me but this was too much. It’s come too far. I’ve gone too far. His once immaculately polished new car was riddle with cuts from my keys and spray paint spelling ‘Jerk’ in cursive lettering. I can hear the police sirens in the distance. He’s standing outside in the lawn, phone in one hand and a bat in another. Fear masked his once smiling face. I will myself to get up, to get moving even if I’m already identified. I didn’t think this through. My legs is wobbly with the effort and the possibly of capture. I sprint for a safe haven, for any place that would hide me and my crime. I didn’t even get half way down the street before the police car came to a screeching halt right behind me. I slow down before completely stopping. I was done. I didn’t need to turn around to know the officer was getting out of the car, reciting the Miranda rights. How will I explain this to my parents?

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