While working at the data slaughterhouse I kept a semi-regular notebook where I drew, wrote inane drivel and otherwise zoned out of meetings that could have been emails. Below is an excerpt from one such meeting with a particular consultant I held deep contempt for. Enjoy. 

His body surges with adrenaline as he leaps across the table and connects his fist to the old man’s lower jaw. A mouthful of blood and teeth spray on the meeting room window. Another blow quickly collapses the old man’s nose and a hard cracking noise echoes in the room as his sinus cavity explodes behind the velocity of his knuckles. His laughs maniacally as a flurry of fists reign down upon the old man’s now limp body. Blood streams in long, splattering waves over movements of wildly flailing arms and fists that result in sickening thuds. He stops when he realizes the beating hurts his swollen hands more than it hurts the old man. He arises, covered in blood, hair and tooth enamel to finally notice the horrified looks frozen on the faces of the employees in the room. The old man lay prostate on the floor gurgling incomprehensible phrases through fluid and broken teeth. He closes his eyes and feels satisfaction. He doesn’t hear the doors open. He doesn’t feel it when the police officers tackle him to the floor. In this moment, he realizes he is too pretty for prison.