Wrath
I run this place
This is a follow-up to JF Danskin’s drabble:
Leo stared at his captured king, now dangling between Sharon’s right thumb and forefinger.
“I win again.”
A slow smile spread across Leo’s face. Leaning back in the plastic chair, he nodded in agreement.
“Although,” he said, “in the end it doesn’t matter, now does it? Who wins or loses is inconsequential when I have the control over the entire chessboard.”
“You don’t have control over anything.”
With a swipe of his arm, Leo sent the chessboard and its pieces flying across the room. Few hit the radiator with a clank before crashing to the floor. The alarm sounded, followed by the hurried steps of the nurses and orderlies thundering down the hall.
Leo was now staring at Sharon, his lips switching violently. The heat from his wrath was digging into her soul. The molten lead.
“You see, Sharon,” his voice was surprisingly calm, gentle even. “I may be a washed up loser, but that doesn’t change the fact that I run this place. They may have demoted me to the position of director in this mental hospital in the middle of butt fuck nowhere, but I’ll be taking my chances again. Unlike you — you’ll be here forever.”
Leo stood up and walked to the door, making room for the nurses as they lunged at Sharon, syringes in hand.
This also connects to the wrathful writers prompt from Jay C Wells, especially prompt 1.
