Staring into space with claws at their sides. Disconnected phone lines do not vibrate, but they are stock still in the darkened house. Relishing the night. Not a hair out of place. Even the dust is where it belongs. Heart beats and I can see it in my mind’s eye. Red and bulbous and beating. Hunger is a beast tearing at my stomach, except it’s not quite hunger at all; It’s anxiety, it’s despair. Taking claws to tear apart the bedroom door in frustration. It is ripped off its hinges. Brown splinters scatter as the door lands with a loud clatter, disrupting the full set dining room table. Smashed china, glass goblets roll to their untimely deaths, spattering it a million pieces on the tile floor. Dinner is ruined. The house is a mess. A bouquet of roses in a vase on the table are now littered with shards of glass. Thorns seem tame now. Anger can be beast. It is violent and unforgivable. Unconditional in its rage and how it will reach out a grab the first thing it finds. Thrown and torn Scottish bagpipes no one’s ever learned to play, and now never can. Darkened house alone with all your demons. I see the shadows.