From fury, one returns to fury; angst to angst; hell to hell. The siege of rage entreats upon my soul.
Often, when I need to clear my head of ridiculous human drama, I go running. So I did. It was dusk. I chose a road that was guaranteed to deliver solitude. The dust rose to my face filling my lungs with brown mucousy mud. Around me the echoing belching of canines burned louder than the music from my headset, and I was troublingly aware of their presence and the fact that they were uncontained. Many, territorially, kept steady on the invisible line in which they drew between myself and them; a warning only. Soon, I came upon one who, like a crack of luminous thunder, came suddenly close to me appearing from no where. Drawing his territorial line with the path of his racing legs, I thought no more of it as I passed to the farther side of the road. In the next stride, as my heel went up, I felt it smash hard against something in the upward motion. It was the dog. Upon this realization, I had no more than an instant’s time in which to process before I felt the sharp sting of the dog’s teeth as it sank hard and deep into the flesh of my leg and was gone. Bleeding, and with a desire to chase and murder the creature, I had no choice but to run the several mile trek back before treating the injury.
From fury, one returns to fury; angst to angst; hell to hell. The siege of rage entreats upon my soul.
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