Rage

My heart heard resound and followed then the unholy kettles of war.  Some wicked family tree, dressed in steel, towering beyond my years though already cast in eclipse, conspired to instruct my response, fitting this rage with devastating action.  I scrambled to my feet, teeth grinding back and forth like some beast accustomed to the shattering bones and tearing away pounds of flesh, even as my hand vanished in a blur, lashing out for something lying near the corner trash can, an empty Jack Daniels bottle, which I’m sure, proof positive, I never noticed before and yet of course I did, I must have, some other sentient part of me that had to have noticed, in allegiance with Mars, that unsteady quake of dangerous alignments, forever aware, forever awake.

House of Leaves by Mark Danielewski

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