I left the party early. The music was good. People were enjoying themselves. I left early. I had to go.
I walked back to my dorm room, went into my closet and pulled the coat-rack bar from its housing. It was a nice solid bar, aluminum I imagine.
I dragged one of the wooden, woven-backed chairs that were standard for the campus from my small room into my roommates room. He had more room, and I would need it.
Nobody was in the dorm that night. Everyone was at the dance, drinking, dancing, and enjoying themselves. So I knew I would have this moment to myself.
With a berzerker scream, I began to beat this chair with the bar. I screamed and beat it and in the darkness I felt the splinters of wood hit my face and fly into my mouth. I raised the bar over my head and brought it down with all the force I had. I felt the industrial-build chair resist and it was intolerable to me. I smashed it. I jumped in the air and swung with all my weight against it. I cursed and cried out in furious despair against it. I beat it and beat it until the bar started to slip from my hands.
The end of the bar I wasn't holding had twisted into a knot of metal. It no longer had the range it had as a bar. It was now a mace.
I sweated and shrieked and swung. I bashed and bashed until I had no distinction between myself and the rage I felt. The tears that ruptured from my face went unnoticed. The font of rage I was drinking from knew no end.
I reduced that chair into splinters.
Later I was asked about it, and I said it was no big deal. Maybe I was wrong.
Posted by Matt at August 21, 2003 11:18 PM