Passive Fist: Part III

“Oh what savory satisfaction. What splendid joy. In one instant, all my anger dissipated and all the rot in my soul has been removed!” That’s how I imagined it. What freedom would taste like once the earth was rid of Frederick Johnson, and I had exacted revenge. Once I had exchanged my passive fist with…

Passive Fist: Part II

When I think of the word pacifist I can’t help picturing myself standing passively by inside the bathroom door, holding a weapon in my fist while I watch my wife get murdered. Passive-fist is all I can hear now when that word is spoken. And I regret, many times a day, my blasted pacifism in…

Passive Fist: Part I

The summer before my life disintegrated was lovely. There are Knoxville summers where the heat oppresses a person like a tyrant, but not that summer. Not the summer of 1997. Highs barely reached to 80 and the humidity must’ve pushed its way around us and into Georgia. I remember being happy, but only as though…