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crafted cage he’d kept it in, he idly noted his body’s response.   Tightly clenched muscles, heavy deep pants through flared nostrils and eyes squinting so hard the muscles around them hurt, all gave evidence to the snarling of his mind.  Even his fucking toes were curled into the carpet as if they needed something to hold on to. 
    Why, though?  Why was he so motherfucking boiling to the max?
    Unable to sit quietly any longer, Bishop shot to his feet as the first word hit his mind and spewed out of his mouth on a roar.  “Unfair!”  And the one word released a torrent of bitter anger which as it gathered strength included more words.  “It’s motherfucking unfair !”
    “I’m too goddamn young to die!”  He was poised on the carpet as if he was going into a physical fight with hands fisted, knees soft while every muscle in his body tensed in anticipation.  Needing an physical outlet for the adrenaline flowing freely, he pulled back a foot and kicked the nearest box as hard as he could, the top flying through the air as the carton flopped onto its side, flinging its contents across the floor.  And as he stood over the tangled pile of papers and pictures, Bishop knew the one kick wasn’t going to be enough to lessen the storm raging inside.
    So he booted it again harder, watching in satisfaction as the side of the cardboard caved in at the force of his bare toes before the entire box turned upside down.  He could hear his jagged breathing as well as the shuffle of papers in the quiet of the room, even over the screaming of his mind while his mouth yelled words like unjust, stolen and the like.  All emphasized and liberally sprinkled with eff-bombs.
    Giving full rein to all that was seething inside, Bishop didn’t pay a damn bit of attention to his actions allowing his body to do what it wanted.  And it seemed all his flesh and bones desired, all that it goddamn-well needed ,was to destroy, to maim.  Since he couldn’t beat the ever-loving shit out of the pain, the disease that was eating him alive, it was the cardboard that received the full brunt of his wrathful fury.
    It didn’t take long though for his weakened body to deplete itself and he dropped to his knees right in the middle of the papers, file folders and pictures that flooded the small room.  Sweating profusely and panting in the aftermath of his temper, Bishop had to admit he felt better.  More in control than he’d been when he’d first entered the room.
    Shifting his weight to his ass as the adrenaline slowly drained away, he laid down and stretched himself out right on top of old tax forms and snapshots, of cancelled checks and forgotten certificates.  And lying back on his bed of paper memories that marked the passage of his time on earth, Bishop began to smile.  The smile though soon turned into chuckles before morphing into full-on guffaws that rang throughout the room.  Laughter so deep and real that he had to hold his sides while his eyes leaked his mirth.
    As the laughter eventually left, his first thought was congratulatory.  So he made a point of saying it out loud.  “Pretty good fucking temper tantrum, dude, for an old sick fucker.”
    Bishop closed his eyes but the smile remained and stayed in place while his body relaxed into sleep.
     
    *.*.*.*.*
    “…so then he says…” Chet’s voice droned on and I tried to keep an interested look on my face.  Had he always been so boring?  I wasn’t sure.  All I knew was that my head was filled with the memories of another man, a rough-and-tumble, wild-assed biker who had more excitement in his little finger than I discovered Chet to have in the six months we’d been dating.
    But Chet was safe and more secure in his future than any other man I’d previously met.  He was upright and moral, a business owner and a pillar of the community.  A much safer and steadier choice of partner when all was said and done.
    Why then were my thoughts tangled up in the past,