Anger Management

Doug hit the back of Jim's head with the 2X4. Jim went down, face planted on a hunk of broken concrete. Part of a pile of busted up sidewalk marked of by yellow tape. Now the tape was wrapping around Jim as he writhed in pain on the ground. Doug put his boot to the side of Jim's head and jammed down. Jim's face split open on the concrete chunk. Doug stepped down again, harder, again, harder.

A couple of cars drove by. But it was dark and the streetlight was broken.

When Jim was passed out and bleeding all over the pile of concrete chunks, Doug looked around and spotted a mallet and a pry-bar in the workmen's stash. He knew they had to have busted up that sidewalk with sumthin.

Jim woke up with the prybar sticking out of his stomach, thru his back and wedged into the pile of busted up sidewalk. He tried to move and felt his squishy guts sliding around the pry-bar, but the damn thing wouldn't move. The more Jim wiggled the more he bled. But how else was he going to get off the prybar? His hands had been beaten to mush mittens by that mallet laying over there.

Originally posted on March 4, 2005 on Myspace.

A slice of prose fiction I wrote.