It was dying for release.
I didn't know it was there, but it did.
Sure I often felt it, bubbling, and screaming.
But I often put it down to my poor health, the poor diet I'd been following over the years.
I figured, almost comically, that it was just the food looking for an escape.
A release.
As far back as I can remember I was always different, loud noises spooked me into a frenzy, and bright colours made me nauseous, painfully so.
So, I'd spend my weekends in quiet, empty showings of black and white films, no vivid colours, no painful noises, nothing.
Those weekends, they were my release.
Last weekend, it was 'King Kong', which I'd already seen far to many times to be acceptable, but I find a relaxing, warming, settling feeling every time I hear Carl Denham observe that, "It was beauty that killed the beast."
However, in my case, when the stranger accosted me outside the theatre, pulled back my forehead like the brakes on an old train, and slit my throat wide open with a dull kitchen knife, "It was beauty that released the beast."
