“Yeah, whatever.”

He sneers at me. He thinks he’s above me. That in this world where all men are created equal, that he is already above me. Like he is my king and that I am a bratty five-year-old who just loves asking stupid question. Like I am his humble peasant he can push around and treat like the dirt he stands on. But I am not. I am more than just the ant at his feet, I am a deadly spider, and when I am spurned I will make anyone in path regret the day they were born.

Overall, sneering at me was a bad choice.
Let me tell you why before I continue. He and I had been on edge lately after he tried to tell me how wrong my thoughts were through my girlfriend, who was trying to enjoy her summer away from all this, instead of me. Why he thought this would be effective is beyond me, all he knew was that I knew he had, and I was not pleased at all. Not to mention the fact he had tried to turn my friends against each other, and had successfully ruined my best-friends relationship. This annoyed me even more. But now he was among a small group that had successfully ruined one of my best-friend’s summer trip with us and made her feel so bad she went home.

At least that’s what we thought. When we had asked him why she left, he had the audacity to blame us for it. That was irony for you.

Normally, I bet he thought that he could say whatever he wanted and walk away like a better man. I bet then he’d try to chuckle to himself as he walked, thinking of how he was obviously better than me. He’d mock me silently to himself at my audacity to question his stupidity.

Not today friend. You might have gotten away with what you just said, but you made a grave mistake. You sneered at me. Get ready for all-hell to break loose.

I throw my stuff to the floor. Everyone around me goes silent. They all look at me as my face goes from a calm lake to a raging sea of anger and annoyance. His long steps to escape shorten as he looks to over and sees the monstrous typhoon of rage brewing.

No one ever sneers at me. I may not be above him, but I am definitely not below him. And it was a mistake to even for a second think that.

That’s when I threw him a curve-ball wrapped in the form of an obscenity with his name on it. The words seem to have the desired effect as his face contorts from a solid-cool to flaccid. The room goes cold as my blood boils in my skin. The muscles in my fists tighten as blood pours to my face leaving it as red as the dawning sun. Fear twitches onto his face.

I stomp my way over to him, and being to unfurl insults and obscenities in his face that burn his face. His eyes begin to realize the mistake his mouth made. He is a foot shorter and a few dozen pounds lighter than me in the muscle department. He knows what he did and fear begins to emerge across the faces of all the onlookers. They know I am as nice as they come, but when prompted, can unleash I typhoon of rage so pure that football coaches and drill sergeants look on with envy.

He attempts to fight back, but is, for all purposes, beaten. I’m louder, I’m stronger, and I’m mad as hell.

Before it escalated to a brawl my friend ran over and pulled me away as I continued to send shotgun sized insults his way as he stood their speechless and on the verge of tears.

Later, when we cooled down he tried to apologize or something. It really couldn’t pass for more than him attempting to pity me to death for him being so sarcastic. I told him I was sorry for yelling. But I was not and am still not nor will I ever be sorry for what I said. Because, I believe that in anger, you are the truest person you can be, and he needed to hear what I had bottled up inside.