Amygdala.

She glances down at my near empty beverage then at me with this expression that would send chills down the common man. Fortunately for her I am not the common man, so her contempt does not influence her tip. She’s young and hasn’t mastered the ability to mask her true emotions. I would say her problem is that she has them in the first place but I would be lying in saying that I feel nothing. I do feel varying degrees of rage and hatred. I wake up with a fire in my heart and I can focus that fire on you at any time. My rage does not discriminate nor does it reason.

I secretly await the chaos that a catastrophe would bring, but not the temporary events--the real deal. The day oil production becomes too costly, or a massive world war over food, water, or basic daily essentials. This is the day I will reveal my true nature without hesitation. I will rise from the anarchy and take rein of the remaining scavengers who have a taste for blood. My unjust horror will quickly sweep over the land.

Sighing she grabs my empty glass and leaves to fill it with my favorite caffeinated drink. The mindless hum of the conversations from the establishment lure me to somewhere else. They take me to a place in the near future: a future filled with promise and adventure. This future does not contain morals or a respect for ones general well being, especially yours.

Your ability to reason will be confounded with my unpredictable behavior. The admirable can suffer the same fate as the fiends next door. The miles of cities burnt and necks gashed open will tell my story. You will know where I have been from the trails of bowel I leave behind. When you meet me that fateful day my eyes will tell you everything you need to know.

I am the monster that everyone talks about at the local watering hole. “Did you hear about the recent killing? His head was severed and mounted on a broken shovel outside of his house. What sort of animal would do such a thing?” Me, you motherfucker! Suddenly she snaps me back to reality and I know she could tell I was daydreaming.

“Are you going to order something or not?” she asks while chewing gum loudly.
“Yes sorry,” I respond, “I’ll have the blackened chicken with a side of mixed vegetables.”