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    I am not an angry person. Anyone who knows me (though few truly know me) would call me lighthearted, I'd like to think. But in that moment, something broke inside me. I never truly understood the phrase "make someone's blood boil" more than I had right then and there. The skin across my face and arms grew hot, and I could tell my ears were probably red from the warmth. I imagined placing a skillet atop the stove and pressing my bare hand against the metal surface, feeling the heat slowly grow more intense until it was unbearable, and thought what a good analogy it was for this particular sensation. It seemed as if smoke was trying to seep out from anywhere it could find, and it took everything in me to keep from releasing it. Even the flesh behind my pupils was blistering. I shut my eyes, inhaling with a last attempt to force the smog back into my lungs before it could escape. When I finally opened them, I took one long look at her visage, my body aching with rage. And, by some miracle, I smiled.