It's not really the wolf, you know?
That urge, after a night of drawing-scribbling-sketching and no sleep until the project's turned in, to kill the neighbour when he starts using his power tools right beneath my open window, to make Amanda's high, whiny kid-voice stop, to fight back-- no holds barred-- when Jill goes passive-aggressive on me.
Okay--
now, I want to tear out their throats instead of whacking the neighbour with his tool kit, stapling Amanda's mouth shut, or screaming every bit of my mind at my sister. But, Angel, that's just the how--
what's beneath is just me.