Tick… Tock…

Tick… Tock…

So close from absolute silence, yet so far. The pen had been discarded several feet away, lying sadly on the floor like an abandoned baby left to die. I couldn’t care less about that baby, it has done me no good. Betrayed me, even.

Tick… Tock…

Tick…  Tock…

If I could, I would rip that clock off the wall and slam it against the floor. I wanted to, oh so very much. But I’m better than that, better than them. I know it’ll do nothing good, and it’ll just make me angrier. I know, I’m better.

Tick… Tock…

Tick… Tock…

I hate the feeling of anger. I don’t want to be an angry woman. Angry women are terrible and only make things hurt worse. Angry women make the feeling of anger so, so much worse. So, despite the fire that burns under my skin and permanently chars my bones, I stood up from the wooden chair and pushed it back under the table I once sat at. Anger does no good, so there is no need to show said anger.

Tick… Tock…

Tick… Tock…

But it is so easy to be angry. I wonder why it is so easy to hate another being and grow frustrated with them. Why is that so? How come I must hold back my burning desire to tear apart any object before me? Why must I twist and break myself in hate and fear of becoming an angry woman?

I hate anger, and that hate disgusts me. I don’t want hate or anger. I want to be a woman of tender love, care, and domesticity. But I cannot. I shouldn’t deceive others like that, it would be too cruel. For I know what it is like to be betrayed in such a way, and it is a sin I will never forgive. I will never.

Tick… Tock…

Tick… Tock…

I didn’t want to touch that pen again, but I did. Because I don’t want to be an angry woman. I picked up the pen and placed it neatly on the table, just some inches away from the unmarked paper also laid there. So neatly, so gently. Because I have to, I have to be tender and patient. This anger will not do. I will not be an angry woman who destroys and hurts.  I’ll push back that anger with a promise, a promise that the flames will escape one day, but not today. I’ll push back the roaring flames into a cage and lock it up, promising that it shall be unleashed one fateful day and consume all it wishes to.

Most likely than not, it’s a fake promise. For I do not wish to be an angry woman, and so I will never have anger.

Those angry flames would be enraged at my lie, but they should know it’s for the better. It’s for the betterment of myself, and all that choose to walk beside me. I will not be an angry woman. And if I have to, I’ll put out those burning flames myself. I’ll extinguish that looming warmth if it means I’ll never be angry at another person again.

Tick… Tock…

Tick… Tock…

I turned off the light, gently closed the door, and walked away with steps that could barely be heard.