I’m sitting at school trying to study, on the second floor of a building, and all I can think about is what would happen if the woman I’ve loved were attacked in front of me right were I am. My mind plunges me into fantasy, where I play out the scenario.
He’s grabbing her, holding her. I fly out of my seat to help. What do I do? Punch the bastard? Sneak up and wrap my arm around his neck? Maybe I’ll offer to snap his spine or flip him over the balcony to the ground floor. Maybe this entices him to let her go, and I release him. I ask her if she’s hurt, and when I see her bruises I am consumed with anger. I sprint after the retreating villain, tackling him and using my speed to bring him down. At which point he gets beat the fuck down, as all of my raw emotion is channeled through my muscles.
Then I snap back to reality. I’m alone, and this would probably never happen. Nonetheless, my imagination has filled my heart with rage. Annoying when you’re trying to study.