Bloodlines

She didn't get angry often, but when she did, it was very quiet. Her lips compressed, eyes dilated, nostrils flared. It was like all the rage in the world was held back behind those eyes. When she did speak, the words bit, like ice scalds on bare skin. It was frightening, that fury. She just walked into a room and it felt as if the entire world was burning.

Afterwards, she was fragile, like fine gray ash barely held together after a fire sweeps through.

I used to stare at her in the mirror and not recognize a thing.

Bec used to describe me this way when I was angry. Got to thinking about it the other night. So, I haven't lost my temper in a long, long time; it's just my creative writing bit for the day.

Also, this picture has nothing to do with it, but I was searching for some kind of illustration and this is sort of cool, even if it doesn't quite work.

It would be fun to write a story from this picture.