Empty rambling

Come in, don't mind the mess. If you sit be careful, I was spraying a awful lot of vitrol about the last little while so the den may look like a catastrophe. There might be food, I dunno. I stopped worrying about that a couple days ago. Oh and mind that one shadow. It's not a shadow, it's the ghost of a squirrel. We'll get to that.

I got so angry, I'm still angry, I feel filled with a bright righteous indignant rage. My body is wracked with tics and muscle spasms, and my stomach feels like a small pocket of liquid lead; hot and heavy, burning yet unable to move. Yet somehow this frightening lightness is spread amongst my limbs and they shake and twitch, stale old adrenalin pushing them out of joint and robbing my movements and mind of any grace.

I should not have gotten so angry, I know this. I will address that with those affected by my rage. I am not ashamed of it, I did not get angry for no reason. I won't say I was pushed, but like any creature that hunts and hurts for its food, I can only be baited so long before I will latch on and squeeze with my jaws and claws until I can lap the blood up from the ground.

I hit a squirrel today with my car. He sat in the middle of the road and I started to slow, and didn't quite slam on the breaks. I had three kids in the car. I swerved a bit, and he darted directly into my car. I felt a small thump, I'm sure the kids did too, and I looked in the rear view and in a soft voice said 'I hit him.' Then I lied to my kids and said 'Oh no I didn't, he ran off.' I couldn't talk about what I saw. It hit me too twisted.

He skittered and spasmed on the tar. I watched his tail corkscrew about as his head, most likely still half smeared to the road. His back feet kicked him repeatedly off the ground. I felt like him. As cliched and sad as that sounds, I understood him and knew I should have just stopped before I came up to him. Let him run off after a honk. But then again, I don't get any warning. I just see the speeding object racing towards me. I see threat and challenge on my ground and my hackles rise and my body floods with adrenalin and I look for blood.

It's my blood that ends up being spilled. I am cut and run through with a thousand small insults, rammed down by a thousand tiny pebbles of disrespect and laid low by the smallest of cuts running along my frame until all the lashings and lacing slip away and my body is nothing but rancid and ruined meat flayed by the wind.

Empty I look down at what is left of myself. I don't even recognize what I am anymore. I fought this once, and the other knew to let it go. This one has backup. I will still fight but perhaps I need a new strategist. I can't do it myself. Will you help me? I just want to love them. To let them feed from me and my soul those things I feel they need. Why am I wrong because I disagree?

I hurt and bleed and still this isn't a complaint. I am here for the duration and will not lie down. My body is ruined and means nothing, but my mind, my soul. It will withstand far more than anyone knows. Eternity means nothing to those who know hell isn't one place, but a vast universe of pain and strife.

Bring it.