Shards & Fragments: Short Stories - Prologue. Prologue: Rage

Ferg

He snarled before hurdling the phone he was holding to the wall.

Brown eyes burned with dark rage watched in satisfaction as the phone shattered into pieces. His anger suffocate him, he could barely kept his hand from shaking from uncontained emotion. His chest rise and fall, panting as any deep breath he took were ragged and choppy, all he could do was suffocate while pain laced his chest. He could feel the pad of his own fingers gripped his hair, attempting any sort of grounding him and his emotions back, occasionally running the trembling digits through his hair.

There was something about rage that made it unquenchable, it made your eyes wander, seeking more despite you wanting to control it. Rage never gave up, he realizes this when, he walk to his book shelves, half which filled with something that was not his.

Not his while they throw all that actually belonged to him.

'Ha?' He almost laughed in disbelieved. Their action were never logical, heartfelt or any semblance of love. Some things that he was forced to keep because other people can`t get rid of their sentimental feelings and throw away things that can no longer be used. They occupy his space and made him feel as if..as if he was erased on top of the abuse he had endured.

'What an irony...I was forced to swallow this hypocrites` bullshit as well.'

He tore the books like how they tore his story books except they had done it with a fucking smile as if there was nothing wrong and those that he actually refuse to kept...he had thrown them against the wall releasing his anger.

One..two..three..ten..twenty...they angered him. These were not his! Why does something that belonged to someone else occupied something that is his?! He tore one binding book into half and hurled them against the wall. He knew how much they cost, he was there when it was made and compile. But he didn`t care. Money is important but it can`t buy anything. No one...no one was allowed to touch what is his! They are his and does not belong to any of them to take without permission nor damaged!

Good thing he keep his cat out, he didn`t want to harm something precious to him. His emotions shifted, anger and frustration chocked him, before that emotion turned to grief. He was glad that he didn`t hurt his cats, he had raised that kitten from the only litter, bottle feed him as early as a few days. He could not and he never wanted to be like his abusers, Tears brimmed in his eyes, his cheeks flushed from anger even when in the back of his mind he feel so exhausted. He took in deep heavy breath trying to get his bearing. Except it didn`t work, because everywhere he turned all he sees were the things they tried to do to him. In frustration he kicked most of the books to the black plastic bag he prepared. Then he rummage his closet and took out most of his clothes that he does not wear anymore. Too colourful. Not himself.

Suits! Formal collard shirts! Slacks! That was what he have, so what if the colours are all dark? Yet they had put clothes that were, it just fucking hilarious in his closet.

Without his consent
Without consideration of what he like,
Just things to shape him in their image

He love order and control, its the only thing he have in a chaotic environment. He himself was all that he have and they tried to erase him. Remake him in their image when he knew deep down and compared to other children he could have been worse. Did he slept carelessly with women and get her pregnant without consent? Did he fucked everything that breathes? Did he do any fucking illegal racing at 3am? From how they commented on his clothing and every critique on his character as if he had done something terrible worthy of hell. They called his demon and when he screamed and shouted at them they think he is possessed by the devil, they had treated him as if he had sinned. He knew how good of a child he had been and he did not rebelled like others.

Maybe that is why,

because he didn`t rebelled.

'How insulting' He snarled through his tears, streaming down his cheeks and tore them from the hanger. The force had caused the steel object to snapped and broken in half as he ripped out things. Mostly things that were not and never will be his. In mild satisfaction, he toss them in one place.

'Get...' He took a deep breath as his own mental voice overwhelmed and drowned his thoughts, 'Out! This is not mine! I am not swallowing your bullshit!'

With shaking hands he tried to remove his clothes and went to the connected shower room. He could not care less as he step over all the clothes and books, something he usually won`t do due to the fact the respect he held for knowledge. He hold back frustrated laughter, in the end he went in with his clothes, not caring to even remove his watch as he turned on the ice cold shower and shiver.

He can`t loose control,
He can`t because it would be useless and label him as a madman.

Things would go awry because he isn`t even legal yet, he was just 16 and they are insane enough to be wrapped in ideology, where not even common sense can touch then they are insane enough to force him to do anything.

He gripped his forearm, squeeze it hard because he didn`t know what else could he do to get his bearing and not chocked by all the rage, frustration and insanity.

Not the shampoo because he might squeeze and waste it. He won`t be questioned, he won`t arise any suspicion, he need to keep quiet on any potential weakness that they could grasp. Not the glass nor steel because he know with his strength he could break them and injured himself...earning more question.

But as he tighten his grip, he knew something he could do..

He shiver quietly under the cold water,

Was it the cold or the incoming pain that can clear his head?

He didn`t know but it would help him kept control

and no one would knew because he wear long sleeve.