* Walking down the same street I usually do, I look up to see a new addition. A large lingerie poster that spans the brick wall. I stared. There was no soul behind her eyes. Ready to walk away from the obviously male targeting poster, chalking it up to the fall of human morality, I stepped on a purple marker. I picked it up and looked back at the 'sexy' poster. Before I knew what I was doing, there were marks all over the poster. What had snapped me out of my infuriated trance was the angry immigrant taking back his ladder and growling in some foreign language. Foreignese as far as I cared.

The poster was thrashed with purple scribbles. Sword piercing one side of her head, gun to her back and pre plastic surgery marks on her breasts. She had purple tears and it looked as though her heart had been surgically removed. I had written 'disgusting'. What shocked me the most is when I saw ' When she doesn't have her own self esteem' in my handwriting. Somewhere in my staring, I had dropped the marker.

I wish I could say I was proud or relieved, but really I just felt sad. Sad that I had to express my thought by violating a poster. Sad that this woman I didn't even know had made me feel that angry. Sad that she chose to take the picture. Sad that I was a part of the same species as her. I leaned against that wall, and felt one tear slip from my eye as I stared into the mass of blue above me.

It was pathetic that I couldn't relate to my own species. My tool of destruction understood and waited for the next job it could undertake. My loyal subject.*

I liked it.