Mr. Decker’s driver raced up I-95 towards Providence. He kept repeating to himself “That girl will be the death of me”. He was too intoxicated with rage to take in the familiar sights along the way. He compulsively opened his phone to look at the disgusting pictures of his little girl in compromising positions with a plebian. The pictures were sent by an anonymous “concerned individual”.
Landmarks that lined the road, unmovable like boulders on the bank of a river, passed in a blur until the car finally slowed to a stop.
“Shall I wait here, sir?” the driver asked.
“No, go to town. Have a coffee. I shall ring you when I am ready” Mr. Decker replied.
“As you wish sir”
Mr. Decker knocked on the door and a handsome you man, wearing nothing but basketball shorts answered.
“Hello, can I help you?” the athletically built, polite youth asked.
“Are you Frank Stodler?” Mr. Decker asked.
“Yes I…” Stodler answered but was cut off.
“Daddy?” a voice cried from within the small house.
“Isabel?” he answered.
“Uh, excuse me, what’s going on here?” Stodler asked when in fact he had a pretty good idea of what was going on.
The well-dressed elderly man pushed Stodler in the chest. He was deceivingly strong. Stodler fell back, stumbled and hit his head on an Ikea end table that broke to pieces immediately. Stodler’s world went black with hints of red in a fit of rage. The only things he saw were the objects in his immediate focus. His anger had cut off his peripheral vision.
Stodler was abused his whole childhood. His state appointed counselor posited that it was the source of the fire that drove him to succeed. Though he worked hard to try to eliminate these demons, they were only weakened and could still be triggered and triggered he was.
Before standing up he grabbed a piece of the broken end table and went straight at Mr. Decker. He unleashed years of pent up fury on the gentleman. The piece of wood fell upon her fallen father with such speed and ferocity that Isabel stood frozen in time and space.
To be continued…
By Ryan 
“…an IKEA end table that broke into pieces immediately.” My mind momentarily went elsewhere and I laughed at this visual. Poor Ikea. Interesting juxtaposition too, ones rage against another’s. Awaiting what’s next!
Who hasn’t broken a piece of Ikea furniture in their life? lol Next one is coming up as soon as I type it out. Thanks for reading it Eric! Um abraço