Bean Pole.

The little boy had not meant anything by it but it birthed within him an anger that he could not control. He lashed out yelling, "AUTHOR!? AUTHOR!?" The boy ran for his mother hiding behind her legs and clutching her thighs for safety.

"I am NO AUTHOR!" He screamed at the top of his lungs stomping his feet and pounding clinched fists angrily on a fictional table.

"I'M A FUCKING WRITER!"

The veins of his neck bulged and coiled and undulated like worms reeling for life under his flesh. The beast had been reborn in him. It was no laughing matter. People eyes began to widen, mothers swept up children, husbands shielded wives, a scarecrow of a security guard spoke a few words of haste into a shirt-clipped radio.

"You all think just because you bought the book that your opinions matter to me? well THEY DON'T!"

He sprinted to a table covered in teenaged vampire novels and flipped it with the ease of an angry ogre.

"Is this the kind of crap that YOU WANT?!? Well take it!"

He started grenade tossing books into the crowed of book store customers. As men would approach to stop him he would fast ball the books at them hitting one man square in the eye-ball, the man fell dead with blood oozing from his head. People began running for the door and hiding in between stacks of Fiction-Fantasy and Sci-Fi books. His rage was out, it was present and it had taken him over fully.

Four security guards appeared in front of him varying in age and height and width and tone. A tall, bean pole, black man with a bald head, maybe 40. A thin old woman who was too bored at home after her husband had lost his battle with cancer. A fat pudge roller of a man who had to cut new notches in his security uniform belt which held only keys and a flashlight. And finally, the captain. A shaved head, pierced ear, tattooed punk ass who he hated instantly.

"Really?" mocking the rag tag security crew.

"They're mocking my life's work here!"

The shaved head twenty-something raised his hand in a STOP gesture and said, "Sir, please calm down."

"CALM DOWN! This is who I am you punk ass NOTHING!"

Just then the black, bean pole security guard gestured to one of the store employees to call 911. The book chunker saw this and was enraged. He grit his teeth for all to see and began to vibrate with pure and unadulterated rage.

"I'm not goin' anywhere!"

Just then he felt the weight of something strapped to his shoulder and when he reached for it his hands clutched an AK-47 automatic assault rifle. He raised the gun towards the guards with one hand and waved with the other yelling, "See you in hell you illiterate rumple-shaggers!"

He pulled the trigger and...

Signing the last of the books he looked at the little boy and, through gritted teeth said, "It's writer, not author, I'm a writer."