Not Dead Yet

17

He was angry.

Not many people knew more about anger than he did. That world-class superbitch, formerly known as his wife, and once upon a time – incredibly – his blushing bride, had made him go on an anger management course.

There were all kinds of anger. Like the frustration you got at a damned parking machine that took your coin and didn’t give you a ticket back. Like the silent fury you felt when you saw a lout toss litter from a car window. Like the neighbour below you throwing a party that went on playing loud music into the night.

But nothing he had learned on that course taught him how to deal with the rage that burned inside him now. The anger of being screwed, right royally, totally and utterly. Of having the one big break in your life taken away from you.

People couldn’t do that and get away with it.

But the thing was, they did, all the time.

When that happened some people shrugged their shoulders in defeat. Some went to lawyers, and all that happened then was they got more broke and the lawyers got more rich. He didn’t have that kind of money. Maybe it was the kind of case that a lawyer might take pro bono.

But he didn’t have the time.

He wasn’t going to sit back and accept it and let them get away with it. He wasn’t going to bend over and hold out a pot of Vaseline to them. He was going to do something about it. He didn’t know what yet. Nor how.

Don’t get angry, get even.

He had made a start. He’d bought a plane ticket.

He was going to make the bastards regret this.

They taught him an old Chinese proverb at the anger management course. Before you seek revenge, first dig two graves.

He’d dig as many graves as he needed. If one was for himself, that was fine by him. Shovels were easy to buy. And he was going to need it anyway, he didn’t have long to live.