With the snow now knocked from the front of the Beacon machine, he could see the front of the day’s edition pinned behind the glass. His heart stopped. His own face was pictured just above the fold. The photograph had been taken at an odd angle, somewhere in an outside setting without Sean’s knowledge. He quickly spun the machine to face the light so he could better read the unusually long headline featured above it.
“Guess Who’s Selling His Sperm for Cash? A Case for Forced Sterilization?”
Sean’s eyes widened to the size of silver dollars. His fists and teeth clenched and his body began to shake in rage. “Son of a bitch!”
It came out like a vicious howl. He lunged forward, wrapped his arms around the machine, and hoisted it up over his shoulder as if it weighed no more than a large stuffed animal. He lumbered out into the middle of the street, roaring obscenities, before arching his back and body slamming the machine to the pavement with every ounce of strength he could muster. The implosion sounded like a bomb had gone off. Glass shattering. Metal shrieking. Asphalt cracking.
Click Follow to receive emails when this author adds content on Bublish