Wednesday, May 28, 2014

Anger for Dummies

Stooped low over him, the old man was carefully sewing up the awful tear to his pant leg, chiding him for his reckless nature.
“You had better be more careful my boy, if someone saw this they’d be asking questions.” The snowcapped head bobbed up and down, half-moon glasses perched on the end of a long nose. “I didn’t tailor this for you so that you could tear it up, you know?”

“I know papa.”
“And how are we going to find you a home if you keep scaring away families?” The man asked as he bit through the thread, turning to gather his sewing equipment, which he carefully began to put away.
“But I don’t want to go anywhere papa, I want to stay here, with you!”
The old man turned and smiled his yellow teeth narrow and cracked. “Ah, but I don’t have much longer to be here on this planet my boy, we need to find you a family, and soon!”
“I have a family… you’re my family.”
“No son, I’m not. A family is a group of people that love and accept one another. I’m just the person that helps you find a family.”
“We’re not family? You don’t… nevermind.”
“Don’t what?” He asked, pausing as he held out scissors in front of him, the blades pointed inwards towards his stomach.
In a flash of anger he kicked forward, his small wooden shoe colliding with the scissors and driving them into the man’s stomach. The old man gurgled, eyes widened in shock before he was slapped with the force of a grown man’s punch, knocking him off his stool.
“Wha-what are you doing?” The old man asked through gritted teeth, spitting up blood as he pulled himself away from his attacker as he dropped down from the bench, the old man’s dremel in hand. As he stopped over the old man’s leg, he switched the dremel on, the power tool whirring to life with the Philips head tool still locked in place.
“I’m going to create art papa, just like you did. Only mine will stay still once I’m through with it!”
The old man threw a hand up; trying to force his attacker back, but only received blinding agony as the dremel carved into his arm, pouring blood down onto his apron and chest. A wooden hand clamped onto his wrist, crushing it with nary a thought. His attacker laughed, cackled really, as he ducked under the bleeding arm and drove the whirring power tool into the side of the old man’s neck, allowing it to burrow until it hit bone. Then, with a final act of either mercy or rage, he yanked the tool free, allowing the old man to pass out and slip blissfully into oblivion.
“And the next item up for bid, a genuine wooden dummy crafted by Hans Gruberfield himself, said to be his last piece before his untimely demise two years ago. This dummy is truly one of a kind and a perfect fit for any home.”
Looking out over the crowd, he stayed still as he had for the past two years… he couldn’t let them know he was alive; they wouldn’t love him if they did. Papa didn’t love him, and now he was gone.
My own fault really, he thought as he sat inside a plastic container, held up beneath his arms by a stand with prongs. I do have anger issues… I guess I should work on that. Maybe my next family could help me?

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