The Rage that acts as keeper, Scientist and ruler of my thinking and deed. Flames raging in my pulsing forearms as my crushing grip threatens to damage any flesh given to these fingers without compromise. There will be no completion of God’s Will in my wrath only the pounding thunder of my fists upon body, brain or beast as outlet for the pain at seeing their frail little bodies littering the ground strewn about some art exhibit in horror.

The only freedom for the absolute furor is to pour it out upon man, rending, breaking, twisting removing life for life, breath for breath as I screamed each of their names into their faces as their life became mine to take, leaving God no fair dispensation of judgement. Taking time to take the time from them that they had stolen from my children.

I caught them on the other side of the levy headed for Myrtle Creek. Their carriage full of the booty taken from the local homes they sought to make haste without drawing attention in pursuit. They never saw me before my axe bit wholly cleaving one man’s existence in two parcels. The horses raged and reared at the sudden relief of blood upon their backsides spurring them to bolt and sending all in the carriage reeling from perched seating.

None had chance but that my intention for they had given no such mercy to the children of our town, the Mothers the Fathers who were lucky enough to defend them found quick faithful determination at the hand of ruthless men. They got no quarter they were put upon by fluid rage, a man beset with the fires of hell lit in his heart and the lightning and thunder of Olympian gods in his fists. The horses never stopped but each man had taken last breath before being dropped one by one of the speeding carriage to the unforgiving embrace of the dry Winter’s ground.

Fury, A cry of rage, pain, regret and relief sounded throughout the sullen, freshly snow covered valley. Silence answered back as if indicting me of my brokenness and the smashed expectations of peaceful evenings.

They lay steaming as I knelt, weeping, wringing the haft of my axe in my weathered grasp it felt good to remember the skills of my youth and to know they would hurt no other. I walked for a time then jogged in the soft snow leaving the red mess behind as I followed the wagon to recover the goods and take their horses. It would be viewed as the scene of a wild animal attack except the wounds were precise, overwhelming and final, no recourse, no forgiveness, they got the Eye for the Eye and more.

Rounding a short bend in the tree lined dirt road and saw the wagon stopped horses reigns held by the hand of a taller man, I knew him and he me, The Sheriff. Luckily the light had begun failing and he didn’t yet see the blood strewn across my chest and face, but that wouldn’t last as I continued at a jog and he had already seen it upon the horse team. Abruptly he drew his sword seeing my axe in hand, shouting, “Stop right there Leland”.