Burning Hatred

Did he have many friends? No. Simply put, no he did not. He had a few that hung around, but even they kept their distance. Many friends had been chased away, one of them quite literally, by Nick Threll’s rabid anger. Coworker’s kept their thoughts and musings to themselves whenever Nick was around. Clients feared working with him. Kindly strangers quickly walked away in terrified silence. No one understood why, but his temper could ignite at any minute like a loaded gun. Clearly people resented his explosive attitude and it began to affect his work habits and productivity.



Nick’s employer was worried how Nick would take the news, but the branch manager knew that this was the smart thing to do. Calling Nick into his office, he sat Nick down and deciding that there was no easy way around telling him,

“Nick, we are going to have to let you go. This is the fourth incident involving your poor anger management and your attitude. Your fellow employees have requested that management take action, and we have decided that it would be best if you left the company.”



When the instant shock of being fired began to fade on Nick’s face, the blank dumbfounded expression evolved into one filled with malice. Anticipating an outrage, the manager had two security officials outside the door. At a wave of his hand, the two men came in and forcibly escorted Nick out of the office into the parking lot.

“This is ****ing ridiculous! I’ve been here two years and you’re going to drop me like a sack of trash? You can all go to hell!”

Nick fumed and frantically cursed any co-worker he happened to be pushed by, causing much more commotion that even he generally was capable of. Being thrown into the car lot, Nick stood up, stormed to the nearest car and promptly kicked the tail light out with loud smash. Needless to say the drive home was reckless.



However, reaching home, instead of stooping in his chair in front of the television and slowly cooling down, Nick kicked his chair over with surprising strength. His anger from the years built up and stewed and boiled instead of simmering off.

“I lost my job!” He swatted a glass jar off the counter, shattering against the wall.

“I lost my wife!” He picked up his old television and smashed it into the corner of the room.



He stood in his living room, grunting furiously at his now meek life. Clenching his fists and hunching his shoulders, Nick let roar a yell that shook the painting on the wall and spooked the neighbor’s dog. Nick then screamed again, this time out of pain, as a searing agony struck his body for a moment. And in the instant it struck it was gone. Breathing heavily, Nick opens his eyes and wearily staggers to the wall. The wall is streaked black and reeks a terrible odor. Nick glances around his room, noticing a strange haze filled the room. Gagging and gasping, the disoriented Nick stumbles out of his building for fresh air.



Finding the nearest bar, Nick walks in to relieve himself of the day’s events. Hours pass, now inebriated, he begins to waddle back to the door. He falls and knocks a large built man to the ground with him. A couple in the corner stands and fearfully watches the events unfold. In anger the large man hefts Nick off him and pulls him up. Both are drunken and angry, the large man winds up and hammers Nick in the head with a punch. Recoiling, Nick begins to boil in anger yet again. He returns the hit, but is kicked in the gut and falls to the ground beneath a stool.

“You wretched bastard!” Nick yells as he clambers to his feet. Clenching his fists he puffs out his chest in another incredibly loud fit of blood lust rage. However, the pain is back. Nick is cut off in his loud yell and quickly devolves into painful shrieks. The pain sears across his skin like a flame. He falls to his hands and knees and begins to catch his breath. Its finally over.

He hears the large man screaming in agony too, and the bartender, and the couple that was in the corner. He glances and loses his breath in shock. Flames have swept through the small room, catching table cloths and wooden chairs on fire. The people bolt into the street, tearing at their clothes in agonizing flame. Nick struggles to stand, his flesh still feels searing. He looks at his arms, the flames attack him yet his arms remain untouched. Nick runs into the street, the pain stops. His clothes and skin are fine. Confused and still horribly drunk, Nick vomits in the gutter. People begin to gather and attention is drawn to the victims. Nick runs. He runs from the fire. He runs from his home and his past life. Who knew his anger was this destructive?