Soft Lovin'

He was nervous about the idea at first, but the deed turned out to be cathartic.

There was this guy at work, Samuel, who was a royal pain in the ass. Always loud, always talking, stubborn and unreachable.

A first class piece of shit.

He drove Barry crazy and, because of their stations in the warehouse, Barry had to stand next to him all day every day. Eight solid hours of torture again and again, not counting overtime.

Barry was weak. He liked his drink and he didn't like to drink alone. So he drank with Samuel, who was one step removed from being a raging alcoholic and always good for a few freebies.

This meant more time together but Barry handled it better because, well, he was drunk and some of the booze was free. Drunken numbness makes pain tolerable. Hell, it makes life tolerable. Throw in a few on the house and heaven was right here on earth.

However, on this night Samuel took it all too goddamn far. Bragging about Trump's victory, prophesying that Trump would save the working man. Talking shit one time too many.

Barry had a high IQ. He couldn't swallow Trump or his lies. And he especially could not swallow fanatical Trump supporters who talked out their ass.

All he wanted on this night was some peace, a break from his troubles, maybe some soft lovin' to ease his worried mind, if he should get so lucky.

Instead he had Samuel. And fucking Trump.

Samuel was reeling but Barry invited him back to the house for a night cap. He had done this once or twice before and regretted it, but tonight he had a plan.

He let Samuel drive himself over with the hope that he would pass out and slam into a tree, but the son of a bitch made it there safely.

As they walked into the house Barry maneuvered himself behind Samuel to grab the baseball bat that was standing in the corner. And hesitated for a few seconds as Samuel swayed back and forth.

Resolve overtook indecision. He raised the bat and swung for the fences, smashing Samuel square on the side of the head. Barry grabbed him by the hair and dragged him out into the back yard.

And then he wailed. Blow after blow raining down on Samuel's body. Barry heard bones crunching and still he could not stop. It was as if every trouble in his life, every worry and unhappiness was fueling his rage.

Eventually he had to stop from sheer exhaustion. He could not raise his arms.

But he could kick. And kick he did.

The first kick threw him off because it was like kicking a rag doll. Broken bones in a sack of skin seemed oddly weightless.

It felt so weird he could not stop himself from indulging in ten or fifteen more kicks, just to experience it fully.

Eventually, wiped out, Barry sank to the ground.

He felt good. Felt like he had accomplished something.

And he got a good work out to boot.