Prompt: Write about rage.
Time: 10 minutes
The glass shattered against the wall. Shards tinkled as they rained to the floor.
"What the fuck did you think you were doing?"
A solid crack echoed across the dining room as a ceramic plate hit the door frame.
"Don't ever," crash, "ever," smash, "touch her. Ever."
Brad ducked as a vase hurtled past his head and made a defeated--whump--landing on the couch. He crept carefully backward, glancing down every few steps to avoid the glass.
"Mel, it wasn't what you--"
"Wasn't what? Wasn't what I thought? Wasn't what I saw?" Melanie had a cutting board in her hands and was advancing aggressively. "I swear to god Brad, I will murder you. Do not fucking lie to me right now."
"I'm not . . . just calm down, Meo. You don't want to do this."
"Oh believe me, I don't," Melanie's eyes glittered with hatred. "I want to do much, much worse. I want to rip off your balls and stuff them into your esophagus. I want to stick my fingers into your eye sockets and rub until every last little gooey drop of plasma has run down your shirt. Trust me, this cutting board is not what I want."