This is. Manifestation.

Me and my issueless bitch (her name's Rum. beautiful name, isn't it?) are witness. As we peep through a single (we are but one, right now, you see) peephole, we see Mr. A and Mr. R seated across a very long table, Mr. R looking intently at Mr. A, hoping for some sign of understanding from him. Mr. A on the other hand, is casually doing what he does best- anything to do with some sort and degree of annihilation. As of now, he is happily, carelessly, unabashedly and unconcernedly destroying the carefully worked upon polish on the table.

Mr. A has a constant violent smile on his face. It's almost like he wouldn't be him without this smile of his. It's characteristic.

"It doesn't hurt to pay heed to the voice advocating sense, A."
A smirk appears on Mr. A's face as he continues with what he does best. And he says nothing. He continues.
"scratch, screech (and all 'em excruciating noises. btw, A isn't sayin' all this- these are the noises he is making), screech (Ha Ha, screech is the sound of dangerously applied brakes. There aren't going to be any brakes here, let alone dangerously applied ones)".
Mr. A also has a short attention span, and loses it
easily too. Actually, losing it is his job description, you know.

"A!", says Mr. R with exasperation.
"A!", repeats Mr. A mockingly.
"A!", says Mr. R with a little more exasperation.
"A!", repeats Mr. A more mockingly, while unabashedly
carrying on making his excruciating noises.
"A!", says Mr. R, in a high and almost angry voice. Mr.
R never gets angry. He also doesn't understand the
rules of assertion with reckless, teenage, kids- they
have to be dealt with in a different manner. Making
meek noises with exclamation marks doesn't help
matters.
"A!", repeats Mr. A, even more mockingly and now,
positively enjoying the experience.

After a five more minutes of exasperating Mr. R, Mr. A
now being bored of the game, finally says, "fuck you. i
won't do what you tell me."

"Look into my eyes, A. You have to listen to me."
Ha ha ha, Mr. R is naive. HA HA HA.

"you are starting to bore me, R. i don't like being
bored. i get irritated when i get bored.", says A,
sounding bored and at the brink of one of his fits.

"How long do you think you can keep getting away ,
with this, A?"

"shut up. you bore."
Mr. A pushes back his chair with the characteristic
screeching noise associated with him and retrieves a
sledgehammer from under his chair. Mr. R watches
solemnly as Mr. A walks up to him. Mr. A has a sneer
on his face. In a final loathing look at Mr. R, he swings. Expertly, cleanly. A splatter of blood on the wall behind and a pool of it on the floor later, Mr. A laughs violently, abominally.

He just executed the death of Reason.

Mr. A is Anger. Mr. R is Reason.
What Mr. R doesn't realise is that power is made by
power being taken.

p.s. : I am 2 big pegs of rum down. And there's a bottle
of unfinished Old Monk waiting for me. Mr. A calls.