Rage. A pure burning rage is all that pours through my mind, an endless torrent of crimson fire that licks through me like the tongue of a dragon.

It burns around my soul, fiery embers sizzling as they contact the gold surface. It warms my icy heart, and suddenly I can feel again, this single emotion pouring into my emptiness and consuming everything.

I grow angry, no, furious, the bent up compressed energy begging to be set free, to ignite.

One person,
one action,
one breath of a whisper sets me off like a time bomb paused at one second.

It explodes forth, merciless and cruel, intent on hurting and destroying. There is nothing else, no guilt, regret, just this pure, molten fury. I roar like a dragon, eyes filled with hard, cold blue fire, immune.

I am a caged beast, trapped inside my own rampaging body. Detached. Hopeless. After my sudden, devastating attack, the boiling fury retreats inside me, a smoldering fire that will ignite with a single spark.

Realizing my instability, I retreat like a wounded beast deep into myself, curling up in an attempt to hide from myself. The result is a detached statue,  and the flames flicker.

They wait for that spark. And when it comes, God help you.

I am a beast.