When Rage Called

They wanted to murder him. He and his friends took a vote. He wasn't concerned with them. My cousin thought it was a joke. He said he needed a smoke, so he reached deep in his coat. He pulled out a blade and he slit my cousin's throat. On his own blood, he choked. That's what I was told. They dragged him out into the snow and left him to die alone in the cold. And he just had a kid. Now, he'll never know Joe. This is what Stan did. Robbing his son, like Cano. And now it's obvious. I knew Stan had to go.

Rapidly I'm coasting in a whirlwind of emotions. Anger. Sorrow. Confusion. Venom. They say these are all symptoms.

Symptoms of rage.

Now, I'm speeding down the street to meet my man Tyrese. I knew he'd hand me the piece because he and Stan's got beef.

He said: "I know where Stan sleeps, wife looks like Gabrielle Reece. Hide the piece under the seat incase you get stopped by the police."

I drove off with a screech. He texted the address to my phone. Several minutes later I'm outside Stan's home. And I'm sitting with eyes low. My surroundings I scoped. I hope Stan dies slow for slitting my guy's throat. He's a sheep in wolves' clothing. All of time has stopped. I watch Stan leave his house. I follow him down the block. Such a thin line. The darkside is my side. I see life through the eyes of those high guys doing drive-bys, or them wise guys with those mob ties. Who would have thought it'd be I, in the ride, thinking of homicide.

All the morals I've ever learned, in a moment I'll forget them. For tonight, I dance to the rhythm.

The rhythm of rage.

Tears fall down my face as I'm brandishing the gun.

I scream at the top of my lungs: "Stan, tonight you'll meet The Son!"

Stan decided to run. I squeeze off three quick shots. With a swift dodge, Stan dips off into an alley next to the thrift shop. I release my fourth and fifth shot. Lead and flesh connected. His body falls to the pavement. Stan can die at any second. Fixated on my weapon. For mercy, his eyes seemed to beckon.

Only God is watching and the street lamps are buzzing.

Stan blurted out: "It wasn't...."

Before he finished the sentence, I shot him for killing my cousin. It's how I got here. The interrogation room. And if karma exists, death will call my name, soon. For my mistake, it's only right for me to meet my fate.

"So it was rage? How does that control you? Those emotions don't exist. I hope the judge doesn't resist to give you 60 from the bench!"

Of sorrow, I smell the stench. I've lost all control. I hear the heartbeat of my victim, like Edgar Allan Poe. And they're banging on the table.

"Young man, why would you do this?"

"It was foolish, but I had hate in my heart and Lucifer knew it!"

The spotlight was hot. With shock, they continued to listen. I mentioned in any other instance murder would never be my intention. Suspense is in the air. A man enters with a paper that he's clinching.

"This is information that was just given to me. We know who really killed Joe."

"It was Stan!"

"No, Tyrese."

I sat back with disbelief.

"Tyrese killed Joe. He slit your cousin's throat. He committed the murder and he blamed it on Stan. He knew you would kill him---Two birds. One stone. No blood on his hands."

Now I understand. A moment of insanity. If only I would have missed him. And now we're all victims.

Victims of rage.

---EOB.