Max Blackfire

          The storm came on fast. The sky turned dark, as swollen black clouds prepared for battle. Lightning bolts flashed. They branched out like veins, drowning out the sky. The wind roared through the flailing trees that lined the street. Leaves and bits of debris from nearby trash cans swirled all around, and a river of water sped down the street, threatening to conquer the sidewalk. Drums pounded in the sky, as fierce sheets of rain hammered down upon me and everyone else in the city.  

  At first this was just a thought, a fantasy based on pent up frustration. I had never really seriously thought about killing someone. Before I could even be able to entertain the possibility of this notion—this scheme, I needed to know if it would be worth it in the end. Would it really be for the greater good? I thought of how Trump so recklessly wanted to kick 20 to 30 million people off of Obamacare, and how he was always trying to take away food assistance for the needy. But why? Why was he so against the poorest people in the nation having health care? And why did he hate immigrants and want to put them in concentration camps? And it wasn't just that. He ordered children to be separated from their parents, just to be cruel. I just couldn't fathom any scenario where I could think like that. It felt like pure evil.