It was a dream so full of rage, that it weighed down my limbs even in wakefulness. The dust of the dream was difficult to shake off, and there were parts of me that wanted to remember it all. I had cared so much while dreaming, that the feeling reverberated forward into my conscious self. But the exact nature of the dream eluded me until it didn't. In an instant, it all came flooding back.
I was opened mouthed, screaming screaming screaming, producing minimal sound. I felt myself reach the end of my energy, the end of my volume, and yet I continued. I could feel my brain pushing against my skull to leap out and express the fury that was ballooning in me. And I knew I couldn't stop. I just kept shouting into the face of my former friend without pausing for breath. The rage followed me throughout the dream, entered every crevice. As I furiously cleaned a disgusting house, I knew the mess was her fault. When she came up to apologize, I knew it would do no good. She reached out and touched me in an attempt to connect or control, and I knew I would hurt her.
I remember vividly the satisfaction that came even before the violence. I was waiting, waiting for an excuse, a chance to make physical my feelings. Without hesitation, I crushed her. I hit and hit and hurt and held nothing back. I twisted her arm and pulled her hand toward me and broke one of her fingers deliberately, bending it so out of shape that I knew she would never again type or hold something without feeling the sting and the ache and remembering what she had done to me.
What had she done to me? I have no clue. All I knew was that I was a ball of righteous, vengeful fury, and in that moment, I could have killed her.
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