The Battle of Accord

I had the strangest dream last night, a dream that seemed to reveal all the vulgar secrets of my depraved soul. I was sitting in a living room, attempting to fix the power chord to my laptop that I had neglected for so long and that now was utterly impossible to repair, when a friend came with his girlfriend and her kids through the kitchen door in the rear of the house. I had just about fixed it when the girlfriends' youngest son came in. Being of the innocent age of curiosity, he immediately came over to me, began asking questions and unwittingly ripped the chord out. I became so enraged that I jumped on top of him and began to bash his little face in with my fist. It was for only a matter of moments, and when I heard the rest of the party coming into the living room I quickly jumped off the boy and pretended as if nothing happened. Of coarse, he had started to cry, deep anguished bawling eruptions. The mother questioned me why, and I bitterly pronounced, "Who knows why that spoiled brat is sobbing!", and she yelled at the children to stop acting as a baby. Immediately after my attack I felt terribly inside, but I also knew I couldn't let on how I assaulted the child. So I hid my feeling behind a veil of aloofness, and answered their queries with quick jabbing comments because inside I was sulking, blaming the whole incident on thier arrival even though they only wanted to visit with me for a moment of mutual friendship.