Sick Satisfaction

Sick satisfaction slowly grew across my face.
My smile was like a grotesque, angry branch with many
different directions and angles.
I was sickly satisfied with what I had done.
I wasn’t seeing straight, only the colors of my anger. The reds
and the blacks. My head felt strange. It felt like it was detached
from my body. The room was spinning, my fists were still
clenched.
My smile became bigger turning into a crocked river, with no
certain direction but instead with meandering banks. It grew
ever so slowly, yet I could tell it was there.
Yes, sick satisfaction was indeed slowly growing across my face.
There was no escaping it.
I stared into his eyes, two dark brown pools. I could see his
eyes were searching my face, all the while looking innocent and
unknowing of his crimes. His eyes were like saucers, screaming
in pain. Yearning for sympathy.
His face was red.
His mouth was dry. He was mute.
I couldn’t believe I did it.
I couldn’t believe it happened.
I didn’t want to hear his plea. I didn’t want to hear him say he
messed up. I just wanted him to die… to feel my wrath, to see
just how sick I was.

My knuckles were turning white, I could feel my balled up fists
shaking. I so badly wanted to do it again. I wanted to scream.
I wanted to yell. I wanted to ultimately crush the universe
beneath my feet.
His face was welting and bruising. He tried to speak. Only a tiny,
inaudible sound escaped from his dried, cracked lips.
“Don’t…”
I couldn’t think straight. Words were foreign to me. I had
become an animal. A tiger, a wolf, a wild beast, a bear. I only
behaved and acted upon instincts. I only operated on survival
mode, wanting to destroy everything in my path that had hurt
me.
My smile of sick satisfaction disappeared into an indescribable
expression. An odd mix of hatred and misery and disgust. I
wanted so badly to feel something more. I wanted to win. I
wanted to feel successful, but instead I felt that anger. That
misery. That disgust.
I couldn’t look at his face anymore. I couldn’t bring myself to say
anything. I felt mute. I felt strange. I yearned to win, to be the
champion. I wanted to feel free like the tiger stalking within me.
Hear me roar.
I walked away, closing the door in his face. I escaped his house,
his questions, and his “innocence.” I felt fearlessness as I braved
the bitter cold winds… I felt ready to open a new door and to
experience what fate has in store for me. I suddenly felt that sick
satisfaction yet again.

SICK SATISFACTION by: Rachel Weishar
Champaign
Prose

IMAGES: Parkland College's Student Art Magazine

IMAGES: Parkland College's Student Art Magazine

Annual student-published art magazine featuring works of photography, poetry, graphic design, short stories, drawing and more from students of Parkland College in Champaign, IL.