Hatred

The intensity of her hatred took her by surprise. It went against everything she believed in but there it was, from deep inside, rearing up out of a murky primeval past. Fight, hurt, kill! Get her before she gets you! The sight of Jane made her teeth clench, her stomach and leg muscles tighten. She dreamed of swearing at her to wipe that silly smirk off Jane's face, or better still to smash her face and make her gone for good.

These were not the imaginings of some half-wild beast but of a normally friendly, happy accountant. Jane had not taken her man, killed her best friend or run over her pet. She had not got her promotion, had better holidays or won the Lottery. Jane had nothing that she could want but sill the violence was there detesting her.

Every patronising remark was like a rod of molten iron searing through her soul. Every stupid question created a jolt of irritation like electricity through metal. Every forgotten instruction was like a slap in the face. And the cringing, fawning and excessive apologising did nothing to soothe but stirred up the volcano.

She tried to keep the lid down on the smoke and flames. She smiled and was patient, answered every question again and again, wrote down her instructions. She was assertive, understanding and had a nervous breakdown. She struggled through the pain, had therapy, got better, came off the tablets, and the hatred was there again. A black beast in her heart and soul, not destroyed but waiting. It saw its chance when the tablets were gone and fought back.

Fear arose in her. There was no escape from Jane, no end to the trouble. Fear and hatred entwined together and made their home. Dreams of violence possessed her. A weapon was carried. "Aah! You poor thing!" said Jane. Slash! And it was over. Peace reigned.