Hungry For Blood

I always think that if I didn’t have a stable childhood and family life, my homicidal tendencies would have come to the surface.

They bubble just beneath it, like a living, breathing entity, ready to come out when the going gets tough, when my heart breaks, when my faith weakens, when all hope is lost.

Does that revelation make you aghast?

It shouldn’t.

We all have a dark side.

Every human has a shadow.

It follows us everywhere, does it not?

The trick is not to succumb to what the Demon in you demands.

The trick is to follow the light  ahead of you, not to look back at the shadow trailing behind you.

Though, there are times when my fingers itch, my jaw clenches, my anger takes a hold of me.

I might not be able to completely finish off a person, but I definitely do want to harm them

To break them.

To see the pain flash across their features.

To see their shoulders slump in defeat.

To see them flinch as they witness the hatred in my eyes.

To feel that heady rush that makes you giddy when you’ve had the pleasure of hurting someone who hurt you.

A punch in the face, or a verbal hit that sends them reeling.

I have always been aggressive. Like I say it’s in my blood.

I have kept myself in control for him. Every time my father talks about the aggression of his younger brother, of the problems he faced because of my uncle and of the many serious troubles he helped his kid brother out of, the look of disappointment that flashes across his face is enough to ground me.

To look at the light, instead of bieing swallowed in the darkness.

And yet, sometimes my Demon wants out.

She wants blood.

She wants pain.

She want to devour shards of broken hearts.

She wants to cackle at eyes full of helplessness.

She says to me, “They have hurt you, why don’t you hurt them back?”

My fingers twitch.

My tongue peaks between my lips.

My teeth bare.

But I clench my fists.

I hold my tongue.

I smile to the ones who are hurting me.

I say to my Demon, “God will hurt them for me.”

She jeers at me.

She goads me to avenge myself.

Defiantly, I push her back.

Life goes on.

Minutes, days, weeks,  months or even years later, I hear of bankruptcies, I hear of imprisonment, I hear of complete and utter demise.

I should not be happy at someone’s doom, but the sweet ambrosia of satisfaction at finally being avenged spreads through my body and I cannot help the tiny smile on my face.

My Demon shrinks back in embarrassment.

It is proven to her that those who hurt others, always end up being hurt themselves, by an unexpected turn of events, by some unseen Power.

That is why my Demon stays quiet. She knows the balance of life. And that that balance is tended to immaculately.

She trusts Him, as do I.

And so my homicidal tendencies are kept in check…

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