wrath

"fury, rage, intense anger." it runs far deeper than ordinary irritation; it describes a form of anger laced with vengeance, destruction, and the desire to punish.

in the christian tradition it is one of the seven deadly sins.
(see: seven deadly sins)
(see: wrath)
(see: ira / latin equivalent)

john steinbeck's novel the grapes of wrath takes its title from this word.
(see: the grapes of wrath)

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my first encounter with it was in high school. until that day i didn't know what anger really was — where ordinary frustration ended and this began.

i had finally gotten away from the people who'd kept me under their thumb for years. that day was calm. we were in class. a friend was holding a wooden board, showed it to me, and said: "hit him."

i don't know what happened in that moment. maybe the hatred sitting inside me rose up, or maybe i just remembered everything that had been done to me for years… i'm not sure. even there, in that classroom, the boy who used to choke me, the one who called me stupid, was staring right at me.

first a small punch. then a kick. then another punch.

at some point the mocking laughter in the room went quiet. because what was breaking was either bone or board. the friend holding the board was already pressed flat against the wall, but i wasn't even aware of it. with every hit, he was the one being crushed between the wall and the board.

i've never used drugs in my life, i don't know what it feels like. but what i felt when that board cracked — every vein in me hardening, my bones aching, and at the same time feeling like i held some infinite power — it was unbelievable. my whole body was shaking.

i don't remember what came after clearly.

to save the friend at the wall, the boy who called me stupid stepped in. a classmate tried to pull me back; i grabbed his arm, yanked it forward. by the time he understood that all of my rage had turned toward him, it was too late. i remember pulling his arm hard as he tried to get away. i think that's where it came out of its socket, at that angle.

i still remember the way he looked at me while i was shaking with anger. he was in pain. and i… i wanted to kill him. the hatred was still rising. my heart was burning, my body was burning, my hands were bleeding.

then the only thing i remember is six or seven people grabbing me, trying to hold me still.

a few weeks later i found out: the friend who'd been against the wall had a cracked rib, and was still struggling to breathe. the other boy's arm really had been dislocated.

after that day, for a year and a half, maybe two, no one would be my friend. the loneliness was hard. i regretted what i did, deeply.

but in that moment… in that moment i was unbelievably strong. that was the only thing i felt. power. infinite power…