Isosceles Triangle

1 > mentally falling apart

I couldn't stop shaking...I couldn't stop thinking. It's like these thoughts are forced upon me. Every ounce of memory..every laceration...every shout...all of the feelings I had felt...every blow. Everything. Every image is flooding my mind, taking over my thoughts. Drowning me in anxiety. They won't go away.

They only fog up my current reality and bring me back to the hell I faced.

My mind hadn't been thinking straight; it was clouded with smoke of hate and ashes of loss. I couldn't see the world the same way; my vision was over run with flames of anger. As I looked at the Man of Torture from afar, all I could imagine was him burning into a pit of hell. Him feeling the pain he has put me and everyone else through all of our life.

He watched me as I watched him. I could easily see the way his lips curled into a frown and his pupils were big and focused. He was focusing on me. In return, I focused on him. I focused my guns on his chest and mentally pulled the trigger as many times as I thought I could. I shot holes in him, over and over. However, shooting bullets at him with my mind didn't clear the air. My conscience was still a blazing heap of malice.

My heart wanted him to suffer. My heart wanted him dead.

Dare will reap what he sowed.

I couldn't control my body. It's like I was numbed by the fury and tragedy. My common sense was blocked by my need for revenge. My longing for justice.

I saw myself moving towards Dare. My brain was telling me to turn around and run, but it was no longer in control. My torn up heart was dragging my body towards Dare. Next thing I saw through the redness was me pouncing on him as he was held down by four other gang members.

I felt strong blows to my chest and stomach, and I felt like I was being thrown off of a bull. The air was ripped away from my lungs as my back impacted the concrete, my head shortly following. It slammed harshly on the curb, and I groaned in pain for a mere second before pulling myself up. I felt invincible at this point.

I can still feel his fist colliding with my body. His abrasive attacks puncturing my bones. My head is pounding the same way it had after hitting it against the curb. I can still feel the warm blood dripping from the side of my head.

I was determined to fight until I was turned into a pile of bones and blood, begging for mercy with little to no sips of air left in my lungs. Pain couldn't bring me down; the hate was making me stronger.

I could've stopped. Why didn't I stop?

I then saw myself bolting towards Dare and the four boys who were fighting to keep him held down. Next thing I knew, I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his neck, giving him a tight hug. The tightest hug I could ever give to gesture how I felt. All of the emotions poured out of me as I hugged him tighter and tighter by the second.

Dare's breaths sputtered out of his mouth. His stubbly Adam's apple struggled to move against my arm; he was struggling for air. His face grew colder, and his body was slowly starting to collapse. I became ecstatic.

Too ecstatic.

I hugged him tighter and tighter, ignoring the shouts from the other boys.

Dare deserved it. He did. All of the years of torment...all of the scars he has printed on my skin and brain...everything he has done has come back to bite him in the ass.

The way Dare was desperately begging for air, his suffering, is embedded in my head along with the shouts of the other boys.

"Knuckles, let him go!" one of them yelled.