In The Heat.

The fence felt the full force of his fist as his punched it with all his might. It buckled and there was a sharp snap as the rotton wood cracked. His fist felt the full force of the fence, but he was too pumped for it to register.

He could barely think straight, barely see. A dark, sinister scarlet clouded the street in front of him.

He shuddered, but not from the cold. His muscles flexed, and this legs began to walk in a direction he was not aware of.

A bruise began to form over the knuckles of his left hand, and it started to swell, sending sparks of pain shooting toward his elbow.

 Under the cover of darkness, he kicked fiercely at a car door, denting it. The alarm's screech echoed down the road.

Conscious thought slowly returned as the cacophony seeped through to his brain, and Michael continued to pace quickly down the sparsely lit street.

Now he had a destination.

Gritting his teeth, he glanced  down at his hand, and gingerly tried to move his fingers. Another spark of pain shot up his arm. He groaned; that was going to be hell tomorrow. There was already a purple shadow appearing.

The terracotta roofs loomed overhead, accentuating the midnight starry sky. Mike paced toward his house. He was going to pay for what he had done.

It was late, and a dew was beginning to settle on the well-kept gardens. A single light remained switched on in an otherwise deserted home. Flashes from the television briefly lit his own face as he peered through the window.

A young man was sat facing away him. Mike smiled; this is the last time Owen Chapman is going to screw with my life, he thought.

He tapped into the rage he could feel brewing in the pit of his stomach. He needed another outlet, and knew exactly where to find one.

 The neighbours next door where paving their driveway, and he quickly selected a sturdy looking block from the pile. He bounced it in his right hand, testing its wieght. It was perfect.

As he stepped into the front porch, images began to flash through his mind. Owen's leering face, grinning maliciously at him while he let his hands wander over her body. Mike tried to blink them away; he really didn't want to think about what happened.

With a deep breath, he rang the doorbell and began to count the seconds. One... Two... Three.... It swung open at Seven.

"Hey ba.." The brick collided with Owen's temple, and his legs gave out, leaving him in a heap on the floor. It smashed into is face repeatedly until all that remained was a bloody pulp.

Michael spat into his face. "That, you piece of worthless crap, was for my sister."

The End

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