Nothing beats a mug of hot chocolate after a hard day's work at the construction site. With a noisy slurp as I sipped on my sweet nectar, I propped my feet on the table and turned on the TV. The time was 10 P.M., it was snowing outside, there was a plate of hot cookies on my lap, and my favorite game show was starting.

Absolute bliss.

I picked up a cookie, so small in my big hand, and savored the sweet and crunchy taste of my own cooking. It was one of the few recipes I learned from Ma before she went and kicked the bucket, bless her soul. It seems a mother's love could be felt even from beyond the grave.

For the next hour or so, I reclined on my couch eating cookies as my muscles, sore from swinging a sledgehammer all day, relaxed and lost their tension. Slowly, I felt my consciousness drifting as the warmth of the nearby heater and the soft background noise of the television lulled me to sleep.

Then I was jolted awake by the loud banging on my front door. My bleary eyes looked at the wall clock. It was midnight.

“Who the fuck is banging on my door at this hour?” I muttered as I slowly got up. Christmas was still a week away, and I was sure as hell Santa Claus sneaked down chimneys and didn't break down people's front doors.

I peeked through the peephole to look at my midnight visitor. An ugly fucker was there, grinning.

“I know you're in there, Bob!” the fucker shouted with an annoying nasal voice. “Open up!”

I gripped my sledgehammer propped up beside the door, though I kept it hidden. I cracked open the door and glared at the noisy fucker. “Of course I'm fuckin' here, it's my house. What the fuck do you want, Puck?”

The small man grinned at me as his two goons stood behind him, trying to look menacing. “What's with the cold welcome? Ain't we the best of friends?”

“I'll kiss your face with my knuckles if you keep wastin' my time. What do you want?”

Puck laughed at me, a grating noise that made me clench my fists in annoyance. “That's cute. You know what I want, Bobby boy. You owe me money and I came to collect.”

“What, you can't count anymore?” I spat. “I paid my dues last week. If you don't know how many days that is, it's seven days ago. Our deal is that I pay you every month.”

“I know what the fuck a week is, Bobby,” Puck snarled, his smiling facade breaking. The small man hated being belittled. “But I don't give a fuck how many days ago you paid. I need money now, and you owe me. I'm gonna get my due.”

“Really, now?” I growled as my hand clenched tighter on my sledgehammer. “And what if I don't?”

Puck smiled at me as he gestured to his goons. The two men silently drew handguns from their coats, though judging by how they held their pieces, they knew shit about how to use them.

“You sure you're gonna go that far, Pucky?” I asked as my resolve solidified.

“Don't call me Pucky!” Pucky shouted like a kid. “You're gonna give me my money or you're dead.”

“Fine, fine, I'm gonna go get it,” I said with a sigh before closing the door. I walked over to my living room, eating what remained of my cookies and drinking my hot chocolate that was no longer hot. Once I was done, I gripped my sledgehammer with both hands.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Oi, you're not running out on me, are you Bobby?” Puck shouted from the other side of the door.

“Oh, I'm not runnin' Puck. That's the very last thing I want to do,” I said as I lined up my shoulder with the door. I had always abhorred my large frame because of how people looked at me. But just for tonight, I thanked my Ma for blessing me with a two-meter-tall body packed with muscle developed from years of construction work.

With a deep breath, I shoulder-charged the door. The sheer momentum of my bulk tore through the cheap door as if it were paper, and I heard a dull thud as my shoulder impacted Puck's small frame. The little man flew away from the impact and landed hard on the ground, groaning in pain as wooden shards showered the pavement.

The two goons had looks of utter surprise on their faces, though the right goon's face quickly morphed into pain when I slammed my sledgehammer against his side, shattering his ribs. The left goon reacted quickly, raising his gun and putting four rounds into me before I managed to slam my hammer across his jaw. He toppled like a sack of rice, and I crushed his skull with a good overhead slam of my hammer. Blood and brain matter flew everywhere.

More gunshots rang out and I felt several impacts on my back as I staggered from the force. Adrenaline dulled the pain, but I knew I was probably done for.

I turned around and saw the remaining goon on the ground, one hand clutching his ribs and the other holding a gun shakily. I swung my hammer at his hand, breaking his fingers and sending the gun flying away.

“P-Please man, I just wanna get pai—”

I stomped on his face with my steel-toed boot. His nose was broken and his teeth shattered, but he was still conscious. I stomped again and again, my rage taking over my actions until the man's face was nothing more than a shattered and bloody piece of work.

Another shot rang out in the night and I staggered. Puck was lying on the ground a short distance away, his gun still smoking in the cold winter air.

I slowly walked towards him, even as several more shots were fired. Even with the close distance, the little fucker's aim was shit. Most of the shots missed, though one was lucky enough to hit me in the knee.

I fell. Still, I had my eyes on the little fucker that made my life hell even before Ma died. “If I'm… going down… I'm bringing you… with me… fucker…”

I crawled towards the small man, even as he unloaded the entire clip on me. I was on my last legs, and the bastard even managed to shoot me in the face. The left side of my jaw had been ripped away, and I could feel my tongue hanging limply in the cold air.

Puck tried to reload, but I was already on him. He kicked and screamed like a little girl, but his strikes were as weak as a child's tantrum. My bloody hands found his face, and I gouged out his eyes with my thumbs. His shrieks were music to my ears.

I gripped his head with both hands and then slammed it against the pavement. Then again, and again, and again. By the time I heard the distant wailing of sirens, the back of Puck's head was mush against the sidewalk.

I rolled onto my back, my breathing turning ragged. With my enemies dead, rationality came back to the driver's seat, but there was no point to it when the car had already crashed.

I was dying.

What the fuck am I doing? I thought to myself as I watched the gentle falling of snow around me. I could have just stomached Puck's extortion and given the money. I would have been alive at least, even if I had to struggle to make ends meet.

But I was tired. I was tired of pretending like the good man Ma wanted me to be. I used to be a bully in school, what with my superior advantage in sheer mass. But Ma had put a stop to that severely. She had instilled in me the importance of being a good man, and being the loving son that I am, I faithfully followed her wishes.

But there was a limit to everything. Ma didn't want me to fight back against the loan sharks. ‘It'll make things worse,’ she said, even until she died of illness because the money for her treatment went into Puck's pocket.

How bad I wanted to kill the loansharks right then, but still, I obeyed my mother's wishes. I kept my head down, letting the loansharks trod all over me as they squeezed me out of every last penny I earned.

But I guess tonight was just very unlucky for all sides. Peaceful moments like the one I had earlier were rare. I cherished those moments when I didn't have to worry about shit hitting the fan. God knows how much bullshit I've already had to face my entire life. But seeing those fuckers intrude into my little slice of relaxation had pushed me over the edge. The floodgates broke loose, and the years of pent-up rage came rushing out.

Now look where it got us: everybody dead.

Dammit, Ma's gonna give me a spanking when we meet again, was my last thought before I died.