Whenever I am angry, I believe in channeling my emotions into various mediums so that I can feel calm again. I remember writing this story when I was extremely angry and as punching a wall was not an option I decided to write the story 'A Serrated Life'. The calm I felt after ending the story was not fulfilling but at least I did not have the urge to punch the wall anymore, so in that sense it helped.
A small lesson learnt, now shared.
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She
had learned to survive the hard way.---------------
Being shuffled in the system for 16 years
had taught her to make it out on her own. She started out with a few basic
fight moves that she remembered watching on TV. She could throw a solid punch that
could knock out a guy senseless. As she grew her skills not only improved but
they became deadlier.
She still remembered her first fight. She
took on a man twice her size. She was coming out of a party when a man thought
it would be funny to size her up. She grabbed her knife and sliced his throat.
It wasn’t even a fight. From then on, word spread through the streets that a
new fighter was threatening the status quo. She fought everyone; male, female,
teens, junkies. Most of the fights she won, but the ones she did lose her attacker
did not live long enough to tell the tale. She had made a name for herself,
‘Bloody Mary’ they called her, because that was all she left for the police,
red bloodstains on the wall, no body.
This time seemed different. She found
herself back against the wall in a dark alley overlooking the dimly lit
streets, with four bulky men around her, blocking all escape. Just when she was
about to make her move she heard one of her assailants say,
“Well, well, well, look what we have here.
Are you going to run away scared, kitty cat?” this caused the other three men
to start laughing.
“In your dreams”, she said in a cold voice that
made them all shut up.
She quickly grabbed her serrated blade and
stabbed the nearest man. Her lips curled up in a wicked sneer as she twisted
the knife deeper into the man’s body. He gave a blood-curdling scream as he
fell to his knees but she paid no mind, she gave the knife one last twist and
let the man fall to his death.
The other three men stared at her, anger
immediately replacing the shock on their faces. Two men circled her, each
waiting for the other to attack. They made the first move; expecting them to
attack she widened her arms in defense but surprisingly they held on to her
arms. She could feel the bruises starting to form on her wrists but that was
the least of her concerns. The last man, the one who had spoken to her, walked
slowly towards her and stopped in front of her. He raised his hand and gently
grazed her cheek with his rough knuckles before slapping her across her face. The force of the slap would have been enough
to send her flying halfway across the alley if the men were not holding onto
her. Before she could feel the blood trickling down her lip, she felt a sharp
blow to her stomach, followed by several hard punches. She tried to move away
but it was no use, the men had her in a death grip. She watched as the man
slowly walked and retrieved her blade from the dead man’s abdomen and plunge it
into her side. But before he had a chance to twist the knife she used her head
to give him a head-butt. She felt the grip on her hands loosen and she moved
out of them with cat-like agility.
She felt the man come up behind her and she
turned around and met his blow with a kick of her own. She followed it by a few
jabs. His weight made it a little difficult for him to move and she took
advantage of it. She grabbed an empty beer bottle and hit him over the head,
allowing her a few moments to deal with her other assailants. The pain in her
waist started to grow and she could feel her T-shirt grow damp with her blood. She
pulled two spears from her boots and walked towards them. She could see the
fear in their eyes and she smiled.
“Don’t worry. It will all be over in a
minute,” she whispered as she drove it into their hearts. She carefully pulled
out the knife from her side and turned to face the last man.
“I won’t be that easy to kill, kitty cat.”
Said a voice from behind her.
“Where would be the fun in that?”
Before she could turn around, he hit her on
the shoulder with an old pipe. Pain surged through her body as she felt her
shoulder dislocate. He got in a few punches but she just walked towards him.
Once she got close to him she plunged the knife into the nape of his neck. He
screamed and tried to get the knife out but it was too late, she had already
twisted his neck. She felt his body go limp as she pulled out the blade. She
spared the men a glance as she made her way to the dimly lit street. She held
onto her shoulder and thought,
Done
surviving, now to live...
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Read the below article by Sigmund Freud on Creative Writers and Day-Dreaming to get a Psychoanalytic view of the whole thing. If you ignore Freud's 'unfulfilled childhood fantasies' and 'unmet sexual desires' theories, the article does explain the idea of channeling emotions and thoughts quite well.
