The woman lay kneeled in the sand frantic and trembling; she was muttering to herself in incoherent, jagged sentences. The rays of pink and orange light hit the revolver in just away that it appeared bigger and much more dangerous than it actually was.

For the first time he felt, and was able to identify such feelings. Rage had been rising up in him, like a pot just ready to start boiling. The first bubble had surfaced and now he was ready to explode. He lunged at the goon and tackled him to the ground. Not a strong – or even well-muscled – man he was surprised at his sudden agility and strength.

He wrestled with the man in the sand, beating him down as if this one man was the source of all his problems. With every blow he was exorcising his own demons that had made him so unfeeling in the first place. The thug had no chance, his only weapon – a harmless when not in his hand revolver – was half buried in the sand.

Rage ate away at the man and he couldn’t stop beating the thug – couldn’t control himself.