Clouds of Anger

The harsh rain attacked the pavements, roads, and cars creating a chorus of crashing. The cacophony of each raindrop smashing all blended into one sound, a sound not unlike metal scraping against concrete. The rain made a unique sound on each surface; concrete formed a hollow tapping sound, tarmac a duller thud, and the cars gave a metallic thud.

Ajal was approaching the motorway, on his way home from work. The torrential downpour threatened the metal of his grey hybrid. He cursed at the top of his lungs, today was not his day. His project was rejected at work, Dave got the promotion instead, and now the weather is the tip of the iceberg. We all deal with our anger differently; Ajal became irrational. He clenched his fists, locking his hands around the wheel spewing out his fury insulting the rain, Dave, his office, everyone who even looked at him funnily. He put his right foot down on the accelerator pedal – wanting to get home as quickly as possible. When at home he can listen to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers at full blast while gorging on a pizza, and drink and dance away his problems with his wife.

While the clouds wept, Tamora hugged her knees in the corner of her bedroom. Silent. Rocking back and forth. Her eyes met the window as she focused on the showers outside, tears beginning to obscure her red-eyed vision. Refocusing her eyes, she looked at her left hand whilst twitching her fingers. Slowly and almost ceremoniously, she took her right thumb and index finger and pinched at her gold and white ring. When her grip was firm, she took her time rotating it back and forth before it loosened – and guided the ring off her finger. Her movement was measured and deliberate, as if she were moving a loop around a wire-y maze without touching the wire itself. It took half a minute but her finger was finally free. She perused the craftsmanship that went into the ring, perusing the small ruby and thought about the time it took to bend and melt the head such that it housed the gem as if they were one and the same. A quote about commitment was embroidered on the inside of the ring – Tamora bitterly smiled through her pain as she realised the irony in the embroidery inside the ring.

We all know someone who has an unhealthy habit, whether it’s excessively drinking, taking drugs, or allowing toxic people to remain in their lives – they acknowledge the problems they’re exacerbating by continuing however there is one thing a lot of these people share with Ajal. When they’re indulging in an unhealthy practice, there is a disconnect between their actions and the repercussions. Alcoholics don’t contemplate the reality of liver cirrhosis before a shot, and something about breaking the speed limit filled Ajal with a surge of happiness… or fulfillment… something along those lines – the thought of crashing did not occur to him at all. If this was how he died, at least he would die happy. He felt a rush of adrenaline. To him, this was a game. A racing game. Drive fast. Leave his problems behind. This was easy. Drive straight. Still on the motorway.

She knew she was in love when she would catch herself getting lost in the tiniest of his quirks. The way his nose wrinkles when he smiles. His loss of balance when he’s laughing. The pitiful disaster that is his cooking.

It’s funny - the line between annoying traits and likeable characteristics is your stance on the individual. When you’re head over heels for someone, even the silly things can appear cute.

Their marriage was five years ago, and they first met about eight years ago. Throughout the entirety of this time, Tamora would continue to fall for him and his quirks. That is until about six months ago. That is when she suspected something was going on. That is when she started to notice, she overthought. How long did it go on for unnoticed? Perhaps she initially dismissed the signs because she was blinded by her love for him. The glasses at their bedside table despite their perfect vision. The label-less ‘new lingerie’ that she never saw again. Six months ago, she was doing the grocery shop while he claimed to be in Oxford with two friends. Cereal. Peanut butter. Milk. Bananas. Some cake for when he returns- and there it was, the friend that planted the seed of suspicion in her mind, in the cake aisle. This friend was meant to be at Oxford with him… 

The sound of keys rattling pulled her out of her trance of memories. This is it, she thought. It’s time to change gears, life’s no longer about living for us. Now it’s about me.

She clenched her right fist tight, the ring digging into her hand. The pinching pain would have caused her to drop the ring and check her hand, but she was blinded by her intention and nothing could hurt her any more than she already was. She collected herself and spoke with a voice that sounded calm, or put-on calm:

“Can you throw the rubbish away darling?”

She had placed his belongings in black bin-bags in the hallway near the front door. Her request was met with initial apprehension:

“My day has been tough and it’s raining like hell out there! Alright I’ll take them out – there’s an awful lot of rubbish!”

She whispered no dinner for cheats like you. The sound of items clattering against the inside of the bins was satisfying, little did he know that he was slowly throwing his possessions out. Everything he owned was being put where he belonged. As he threw the bags away, she made her way down the stairs and towards the front door. There were ten bags and she heard him call out after throwing away only five:

“This fell out of one of the bags…It’s my beard trimmer. What’s in these bags? It’s my… What’s brought this on h-”

Honey. That’s the word he was looking for, but the realisation hit him. He knew he had been found out. His sentence trailed off as he had nothing to say. He knew he had nothing to stand on, she found out what he had been doing for the past ten months.

“I want you out of my house. I want you out of my life. Take the rest of your stupid things and get the hell out of my home!”

“But I have nowhere else to go...”

His voice cracked as he said this with resignation. This was his fault and he couldn’t undo it. She stepped out of the house and placed her hands on his shoulders. Both with tears in their eyes, his eyes also showed desperation whilst hers burned more so every second with fury. She pushed him out of the doorway into the storm. His tears blended in with the rain as he just stood there, unable to argue or plea his way back into the house. The way he stood there in the rain with no options, no home, and no hope could pass as the perfect definition of defeat. A self-inflicted defeat.

“Oh, alright then! I’ll just go to her then!”

The words echoed and reverberated in Tamora’s ears, etching at her brain. The anger and pure disappointment that built within her eyes and soul earlier reached a peak and blinded her. She ran from the dry comfort of her house into the pounding rain, towards him. Towards her ex. Towards Clay. She attempted to convert all the pain, all of her contempt for him, and all of the years she wasted pining for and loving him into a violent push and he fell back onto the road.

That was the moment Ajal hit someone with his car. No one would be able to survive at the speed he was going. He stopped the car and rushed out to find his victim. Following the sound of sobbing, he found a woman crouched over a mangled cadaver.

The moment he hit someone didn’t feel pivotal. That taking of another life doesn’t change the world, or rock the core society. The weather didn’t change, nothing felt different. But when he saw the body and acknowledged he caused this… that’s when he felt the world implode on his life.

“I’m sorry… I just needed to get home… I can’t go to prison… I didn’t mean to -“

He stopped, at a loss for words. As all the energy and hope of escape from his problematic life left him, Tamora found herself gaining strength and her words found her again. She got up and held his legs, trying to lift them.

 “Help me. You don’t want to go to jail, do you? Let’s move the body inside.”

England versus Germany. The World Cup, 2022. The score was 1-1 and they were now on penalties having played extra time into a draw. Everyone in the bar had their eyes fixated on the screen as this could be it. The day that England win the World Cup. Ajal sat with his friends and whilst everyone was glued to each penalty and ready to critique the players, he was waiting. His friends promised they had the perfect girl for him. They had kept trying to pair him with someone, always tried to take up the opportunity to play wingman for him. It’s the least they could do to try and help him move on from widow-hood.

It had been two years since that night. Sylvia, his poor wife, stood no chance against the three intruders. They broke into the house looking for money and instead they took a life and fled. He got no closure and turned down every girl his friends recommended. He didn’t want to move on, not after a day, a week, a year. Two years after that terrible night he finally gave in and decided to let his friends help with his love life. And in she came at the same time England had just won. The whole bar erupted, with a roar of triumph. Everyone. Every single person. Except for Ajal and Tamora. They locked eyes and swallowed a lump in their throat. It took them a minute or two but they gripped onto as much composure they could.

When the initial euphoria of the game’s result wore off, Nina realised Tamora had come in and gestured for her to join them.

“Ajal, this is my good friend Tamora. Tamora, likes gin, Ajal!”

Nina pushed Ajal and Tamora towards the bar and gave them a wink. They shook hands and proceeded to the bar after greeting each other in front of Nina.

“I've heard a lot about you!”

Tamora joked with him, as he replied:

"Lovely to meet you!"