Trashed.
Ataxiophobia.
Ataxiophobia. Fear of disorders.
I have that. I also have a slight rage problem. And fear? Fear makes me angry. The more frightened I become, the angrier I get. So disorder? Makes me scared. Makes me angry. Makes me...
Makes me want to kill.
So just imagine my feelings when I come home to find my house wrecked. My so-called “friends,” my housemates, the people who know me the best, have pushed my worst fear. My greatest anger.
Oh, look, they’re waking now.
Zach blinks at me with confusion in his ice blue eyes. He shakes his black hair from them, and he pulls at the ties binding him to the chair. His muscles ripple, and the chair creaks. The chair that belongs in the kitchen, by the way. The chair which was moved into the living room. More disorder. My heart races in panic; my body trembles in anger.
“Well, hello, Zachary.” My voice is solid, shockingly so at the level of panic I was at. “Nice of you to finally come to. Sorry about your head, but I felt it really was necessary.” He has a large knot in the middle of his forehead; my baseball bat is cracked. Well, I had to knock him out somehow. He groans, and I smile. “Would you like to explain why you and Anna decided to trash my house?”
“Leah, chill. We – we didn’t know you were going to be home so soon. We were gonna clean it before you returned. We – it’s not even just your house!”
His voice becomes louder as his anger builds. I can see the frustration in his eyes as he realizes things are not going as planned. Good. Let him get a taste of just how I feel. His voice wakes Anna. She groans in confusion and pain; she, also, has a knot on her head. If only they hadn’t struggled. She pulls at her own ties, to another kitchen chair that had been left in the wrong place. More disorder. Her green eyes, almost hidden behind her brown curls, search my face. They rest to meet my own brown eyes. “Leah? W-what’s going on?”
I shake my straight brown hair from my face and glare at her. “What’s going on?” My voice is shaking with anger now. “What’s going on is that this house is fucked.”
My eyes wander the room. Trash is thrown everywhere. The furniture is tipped. Food is spilled on the floor and left. It’s like they meant to get to me. And this room is the least destroyed. My heart races. Panic threatens to overcome me.
And the only way to control it is with anger.
Shakily, I focus on my immense, ever growing anger. I try to slow my heart rate, to calm my nerves. With this focus, my panic is subdued just enough to be controlled. But also, with the focus, my anger becomes uncontrollable. Makes me feel out of control. More disorder. More panic.
More anger.
In a flutter of fury and flying limbs, I hurtle at both Zach and Anna, knocking them both backwards simultaneously. They hit the ground on their backs with a satisfying ‘oomph!’ and for a second they cannot breathe. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Not now. Anger has overcome me. I pummel them both with fists and feet, not caring who I hit or where. Ignoring their cries and pleas, I inflict more pain. And more pain. And more pain.
And it feels good.
I stand up, and I walk to the kitchen. Silverware is everywhere. The trash can is knocked over. All the chairs are missing. The blinds are broken, skewed.
More disorder. More fear. More anger.
Strangely calm, I pick up a knife and walk back into the living room. I put it carefully into my back pocket, and I pick up Zach and Anna from the floor. Zach’s lip is busted. I watch the blood drip down his chin. Anna’s eye is blacked. I can barely see the green through the swelling. They’re both scared, but neither one of them can speak as I pull out the knife.
I start with Zach. His blue eyes widen as I point the knife at him. “You guys fucked the house.” I stab him once, swiftly, in the stomach. He cries out in pain, but does not fight. He is defeated. Anna starts to cry. With a twist, I pull the knife out. “This makes me very angry.” I drag the knife slowly through both his wrists, and I leave him to bleed out. Then I turn to Anna. She’s shaking her head and whimpering with fright. Tears are pouring from her eyes. But that doesn’t stop me. She receives the same treatment as Zach. She deserves to be punished. Messes are not okay.
I drop the knife and walk out of the house. I'll never come back. It would take days to clean that mess, and I would have several panic attacks. It just isn’t worth it. Disorder makes me afraid. Fear makes me angry. And anger?
Makes me want to kill.
I have that. I also have a slight rage problem. And fear? Fear makes me angry. The more frightened I become, the angrier I get. So disorder? Makes me scared. Makes me angry. Makes me...
Makes me want to kill.
So just imagine my feelings when I come home to find my house wrecked. My so-called “friends,” my housemates, the people who know me the best, have pushed my worst fear. My greatest anger.
Oh, look, they’re waking now.
Zach blinks at me with confusion in his ice blue eyes. He shakes his black hair from them, and he pulls at the ties binding him to the chair. His muscles ripple, and the chair creaks. The chair that belongs in the kitchen, by the way. The chair which was moved into the living room. More disorder. My heart races in panic; my body trembles in anger.
“Well, hello, Zachary.” My voice is solid, shockingly so at the level of panic I was at. “Nice of you to finally come to. Sorry about your head, but I felt it really was necessary.” He has a large knot in the middle of his forehead; my baseball bat is cracked. Well, I had to knock him out somehow. He groans, and I smile. “Would you like to explain why you and Anna decided to trash my house?”
“Leah, chill. We – we didn’t know you were going to be home so soon. We were gonna clean it before you returned. We – it’s not even just your house!”
His voice becomes louder as his anger builds. I can see the frustration in his eyes as he realizes things are not going as planned. Good. Let him get a taste of just how I feel. His voice wakes Anna. She groans in confusion and pain; she, also, has a knot on her head. If only they hadn’t struggled. She pulls at her own ties, to another kitchen chair that had been left in the wrong place. More disorder. Her green eyes, almost hidden behind her brown curls, search my face. They rest to meet my own brown eyes. “Leah? W-what’s going on?”
I shake my straight brown hair from my face and glare at her. “What’s going on?” My voice is shaking with anger now. “What’s going on is that this house is fucked.”
My eyes wander the room. Trash is thrown everywhere. The furniture is tipped. Food is spilled on the floor and left. It’s like they meant to get to me. And this room is the least destroyed. My heart races. Panic threatens to overcome me.
And the only way to control it is with anger.
Shakily, I focus on my immense, ever growing anger. I try to slow my heart rate, to calm my nerves. With this focus, my panic is subdued just enough to be controlled. But also, with the focus, my anger becomes uncontrollable. Makes me feel out of control. More disorder. More panic.
More anger.
In a flutter of fury and flying limbs, I hurtle at both Zach and Anna, knocking them both backwards simultaneously. They hit the ground on their backs with a satisfying ‘oomph!’ and for a second they cannot breathe. But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Not now. Anger has overcome me. I pummel them both with fists and feet, not caring who I hit or where. Ignoring their cries and pleas, I inflict more pain. And more pain. And more pain.
And it feels good.
I stand up, and I walk to the kitchen. Silverware is everywhere. The trash can is knocked over. All the chairs are missing. The blinds are broken, skewed.
More disorder. More fear. More anger.
Strangely calm, I pick up a knife and walk back into the living room. I put it carefully into my back pocket, and I pick up Zach and Anna from the floor. Zach’s lip is busted. I watch the blood drip down his chin. Anna’s eye is blacked. I can barely see the green through the swelling. They’re both scared, but neither one of them can speak as I pull out the knife.
I start with Zach. His blue eyes widen as I point the knife at him. “You guys fucked the house.” I stab him once, swiftly, in the stomach. He cries out in pain, but does not fight. He is defeated. Anna starts to cry. With a twist, I pull the knife out. “This makes me very angry.” I drag the knife slowly through both his wrists, and I leave him to bleed out. Then I turn to Anna. She’s shaking her head and whimpering with fright. Tears are pouring from her eyes. But that doesn’t stop me. She receives the same treatment as Zach. She deserves to be punished. Messes are not okay.
I drop the knife and walk out of the house. I'll never come back. It would take days to clean that mess, and I would have several panic attacks. It just isn’t worth it. Disorder makes me afraid. Fear makes me angry. And anger?
Makes me want to kill.