The Weak Human

“Does he know the magnitude of the opportunity he has missed with his temper tantrum?” was the common refrain after he threw the laptop on his manager’s face.

The fire was not just anger; it was history erupting, and

when the eruption passed, he stood among the ruins, knowing the mountain inside him would never truly rest.

Each incident of being insulted, overlooked, ignored, humiliated, every act of quiet cruelty had pressed down like layers of ash, compacting into a dangerous core of molten lava.

He walked around like a mountain that held together centuries of silence misconstrued as weakness, leading to further repression.

Those who touched it felt the tremors and reverberations within, and wrote stories about the invisible gods and demons that lived beneath.

Only when he erupted, he was labelled a weak human with no self-control.

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Six Sentence Stories