Anger

"What on Earth were you thinking? You could have killed someone!" My mother screams. She raises a hand and I flinch in fear. I squeeze my eyes shut and pray she doesn't strike. A small moment passes and I breathe a sigh of relief. Opening my eyes, I see that she was distracted by the mail coming through the letterbox.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean for it to-" I begin, but she interrupts.
"You're sorry? Oh, you'll be more than sorry when I'm done with you!" She screams again, mail forgotten. "How many times have I told you not to hang around with those blasted boys? They're all nothing but trouble."
"They're my friends!" I yell in defence.
"Friends? You call them friends? They almost got you arrested, you silly, little brat!"

My stomach coils like a tightly wound spring. Anger begins to bubble within me, but I don't allow it to surface. I swallow any harsh words and simply nod my head. "I'm sorry, Mother."

"I did not raise you to become a delinquent. Sort yourself out, young man," she lectures, "I want you to go round to Mr. and Mrs. Watson's and apologise to them first thing in the morning, understand?"

I nod again and look at my feet.

"Why did you do it? Was it for the thrill of doing something bad? Was it fun, Peter?"

Again, the anger boils inside me and nearly overflows. Again, I keep it under control. "No, Mother. I didn't actually do anything. I just happened to be there with them when it happened. Anyway, I doubt it would have killed anyone."
"You threw a brick through their window, Peter!"
"I didn't! It was Hershel! I don't even know why he did it."
"You didn't try to stop him, did you?" She questions, knowingly. I shake my head and look back down at my feet. "Make sure you apologise to the couple, or you can say goodbye to any luxuries under this household and those 'friends' of yours," she says and turns to get the mail.

"But, Mother-"

It happens so fast that I have no time to react. I stumble backwards, my left cheek ablaze. She lowers her hand and stares at me with narrowed eyes, like a snake ready to strike again at a moments notice. "Do as I say, boy."

I stare daggers into her back as she returns to the mail. I feel the venomous anger spiral out of control. I raise one hand to gently rub my swollen cheek and the other hand tightens into a fist. I grit my teeth.

"Yes, Mother."