I don’t want to hurt an old man. I want to find a young man, full of himself and prone to violence. I know only his first name, and that he lived in San Diego county 32 years ago. I know the inside of his house like I was standing in it right now though. I figure that’s the best place to look. It’s easy to get there. I’ve done it so many times before. Finally able to take my grown self back… I’ll just close my eyes.

What I find is a man who targets a single mother, offers her a home. I find a man who targets her young son, aiming every abuse available at that little kid.

When I walk in this time, with my man strength and my built up rage, and I see the unimaginable, I don’t just stop it from happening. I beat the life out of that man.

In my revenge fantasy, I use my bare hands to break his bones. The momentary pleasure I get from hearing the moans of pain as my kicks break his ribs are well worth a life in jail. I’m willing to die for that feeling. Go ahead, hang me afterward.

He waits for death until I slam his face into the sidewalk a thousand times. It flattens like a pancake and drips blood everywhere. He begins to look like the monster in a horror movie.

I kick and stomp him some more, just to make sure all of his bones are broken. When they stop snapping, I shove a giant spiked baseball bat right up his asshole, twist it around, and ask him if it feels really good. I tell him that I’m doing it out of love, that this is what Jesus wants.

That’s when he dies. His last words are mumbled pleas for help, like someone is holding a hand over his mouth to prevent him from screaming.

So, yeah… Fuck You George!

— Lee Stone —



About Lee Stone -leest1-

The world is changing: Stand for Something. Soporte Para Algo. Independent Poet/Artist. Portland, OR ·
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