I figured that now would be a good time to update- I wrote this pretty quickly since I need to run an errand, so forgive me if it feels rushed or too short, but this is a short story after all: you don't need long chapters to have a good story, am I right?

When Benson returned home that evening, he went on one of his usual tirades: punching walls, kicking chairs, smashing dining wear…the usual victims. He couldn't think straight, he was so pissed. "HOW DARE THEY! THOSE NO GOOD….USELESS….LAZY…..BRATTY….." He was getting dangerously close to the point of snapping his teeth out of their sockets because he was grinding them so hard; his burning glass eyes were searing holes into his pillow while strong metallic hands slugged and beat out every soft goose feather inside.

"Hey! Shut the hell up!" His ceiling snapped back with a muffled tone, followed by agitated thumping.

"You shut up! Leave me the hell alone!" The pissed off gumball machine hissed in return, shaking his fist. "Today was the worst day of my life!"

"What's new?" God, he hated his neighbors. So nosy….but if he wanted noise, Benson would surely deliver. He looked over at his neglected drum set near his bedroom window, sneering cruelly; he never had the opportunity to let his real passion shine since apartment dwellers didn't take too kindly to the smashing of drums, but to strum a guitar that wasn't plugged in was peachy keen…he hated how strict his life was.

So many guidelines, so many rules to follow. Don't do that, Been-teen! What's wrong with you, Benson? Why are you always so disappointing? Why can't you be cool?

He hated it. Hated his job, hated his own anger, hated his pathetic life. Now his coworkers absolutely loathed him for saving their stupid asses and voicing what he really felt….and one of his closest friends was now distant from him. It sucked. It sucked so hard.

He slumped against his precious drums, clutching one of the sticks so hard it almost snapped in half. He had his glass head pressed against one of the main pieces, wondering just how painful it would be if he suddenly smashed his fragile head against it…wait, suicide? What the hell was wrong with him?

"You are pathetic, Benson." He growled to himself, getting up and throwing the drumstick down carelessly as he trudged to the bathroom and took a hard look at himself. "So something goes wrong, again, and you want to kill yourself." His reflection was just as sour, delivering no hope or assurance that everything will be just fine. "You don't have any friends, your girlfriend left you, and nobody would ever care about loving you." His eyes slowly hardened into a toxic stair as he suddenly lifted his hand up and punched his mirror, allowing the shattered remnants splash against his face. He picked up one large, jagged piece and looked down at his heart shaped crank. "You don't deserve this!" He jammed it into his slot and turned the piece, smashing the mirror fragment into further shards inside of him and stalling the crank in the process- the broken glass stung hard as it tumbled into his sensitive gear system, but the pain only spiked his anger further.

He clutched the sink for dear life as his insides clanked and screeched from the painful confetti that marred them. He grasped at his crank again and tried to turn it, but one shard was jammed in just right to prevent it from turning further. Snarling in rage at his own stupidity and how lousy his body was, he turned it again with such force that it caused the shard to explode, derailing a gear inside the crank with then completely broke it. Benson howled in pain, slipping on the shower mat beneath his feet and collapsed onto the grimy tile floor. The impact knocked any piss and vinegar out of him as he fought to gather his breath, vision spinning. He closed his eyes and fought for air to returned to his starved, artificial lungs. "What the hell is wrong with me…" He whispered gently, bringing a cold hand to cover his forehead. "I need help….I really do…" When his vision was restored and his head ceased to feel light, he looked at some of the carnage he caused in his senseless anger, frowning. He would bet that in a few more minutes, the manager would be banging at his door demanding money for broken property and threatening to call the cops…

"This is why nobody would ever love you, Benson. Pathetic."