In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Mad as a Hatter.” Tell us a time when you flew into a rage. What is it that made you incredibly angry?
It was a late Friday afternoon, ten years ago. The air dry and humid, the beginning of summer where days are longer and school vacation just started for kids in my country. I was employed as staff auditor, an unending job of tracing, tracking, verifying one document against another. My table is always full of documents. We come at eight in the morning start poring over papers until we get tired then go home at the end of the day. Everyday.
My co worker and I left the office that day with no special plans. We each went our own way. Traffic was so light that when I got home the sky was still bright. The apartment was empty, my boarders were all away for the night. I used to have sisters renting the bigger room in that apartment while I took the smaller room. And that night they’re out leaving me with no one to hang out.
With free time on my hand I made a spur of the moment decision, to pick up personal things from a cousins house. On my way to the bus stop I saw an atm, went inside and took out money for my weekend shopping. Another spur of the moment decision I would regret for years. About that time the sun was out and slowly darkness setting in.
When I met my cousin she invited to spend the night there, realizing how late it’s getting. And I declined. I got out of the house the street lights and headlights full blast and glaring at me.
I hailed a taxi, got in, after a few meters it stop and someone came and shoved me inside at the back. I was told not to make any false move, or else it’ll cost me my life.
Yes, I was robbed and held up inside that taxi, my jewelry, money were taken. I was taken a ride around the same block for twenty minutes while the other guy who shoved me in inspected my purse and took out whatever valuables he could. They finally let me off in some dark corner, instructed me to walk farther and not to look behind. I took the train home with fare money they gave me.
Right now as I’m writing this my heart is pounding, my fist clenching. I’m angry at myself for not listening to warning signs. I should’ve stayed home and not make those spur of the moment decisions, i e, going to my cousin, withdrawing money or I should’ve stayed with my cousin when they invited me to sleep over which I’ve done many times. Not only that, since Monday of that week I already had a weird feeling, not sick, but I felt I needed a day’s rest which I ignored. I was mad at myself that in my dreams I was fighting back, I’d imagine myself grabbing the maneuver, switching from side to side until we all get in an accident, or I could have grabbed the window and jump out. I could have grabbed the drivers neck and squeeze it. On some nights, I imagine those two guys in my hands, smashed, crumbled, squeezed until they fall into pieces like rags. I don’t want to kill them I just want them to fall apart and then trample them on the ground. That’s as far as I could do.
Telling the story to my friends as a way to unload my emotions I guess didn’t help. No bursting of emotion such as crying or yelling helps. But I remember even as the anger remained, there was another emotion. That of fear. Of how fragile life is at any moment.