When the soft things were done, I moved onto the walls. The pack picture had to go. I wrenched the backing off and tore out the picture, tearing it to tiny pieces and tossing it around like confetti. I continued the assault on every piece of art and decor lining my walls. No sconce, print, or macrame was safe. My chest was heaving and my mind eerily blank as I continued my massacre, ignoring the shouts outside.
