Rage. That was all he felt. All he knew. His vision red and jumping because his heart was pounding. His teeth chattering even thought it wasn't cold. His hands trembling. Adrenaline flooding his system, fight or flight warring in his blood. He felt his jaw clench again, his teeth grinding together. The rage was still there.
He stared straight ahead, not knowing what else to do. He chewed on his thumbnail as he paced, simply trying to get his pulse under control. The air wouldn't come easily into his chest. It was all he could do not to start yelling and screaming. The rage was still there.
His mind almost refused to work, trying to logically process things while so much emotion took over was nearly impossible but he forced himself to. Deep breaths that had to be drawn by pure will calmed him some, but the rage was still there.
Of all the questions that ran through his mind, the only one he could focus on, the only one he could truly grasp was: why? Why was this particular act perpetrated? What had inspired such hate as to bring this about? He didn't know. He may never know. The rage was still there.
The keyboard clattered under his fingers, the noise making no sense in his emotion rattled brain. They were just sounds. Nothing concrete. The more sense he tried to make out of it, the worse it got. He couldn't wrap what little logical part of his mind remained around the whole issue, let alone the why. He knew the who and he knew the what. He even knew the how and the where. He just didn't know why. The rage was still there.
Even if he figured it out, would it make a difference? Probably not. People were usually blind to the obvious answer. To the easy answer. But then, people usually didn't take the easy way our even when they saw it in front of them. Maybe they were just blind altogether. The rage was still there.
Thoughts just came randomly out of his head, spilling out onto the virtual paper of the laptop. He couldn't control them. Did he want to? Probably not. He watched and waited. Waited for inspiration to come to replace what was taken from him but he knew it wouldn't show up. The rage was still there.
Return. Return. Two spaces. Two words. Things just came out, no rhyme, no reason. Chin scratched, he looked at his hand. Still trembling. Still shaking. He could almost feel the blood cells running into each other. He could feel his veins and arteries pumping harder than they should have to. The rage was still there.
One last deep breath. One last-ditch attempt to get himself back under control. His hand no longer shook and his vision no longer jumped but the jaw was the key. His jaw was still clenched, his teeth starting to hurt. Another deep breath. The last one wasn't the last, was it? Didn't matter. There would be another. And probably another. Another one after that? Probably. As many as it took. As many as it took. His jaw not clenched. Well, not as much. He could feel it in his chest, though. And his jaw. And his shoulders. It would be a while before he was all right, but he would be okay. Just like he always was. The rage was still there.
But there was still that nagging question: why? He may never know. Maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he just wanted peace. Could he find it? Probably not. Maybe he never would. The rage was still there.