Ashes of Wrath

A man consumed by wrath risks everything to expose a rival, only to destroy himself.

Ashes Of Wrath

Word Count: 1,901

Mark Brennan clenched his fists the day Robert Langley stole his presentation. Every chart, every late-night edit, every careful idea—Robert claimed them with a grin before the board. Applause swelled around him while Mark stood at the edge of the room, invisible.

He told himself it didn’t matter. But that night, staring at the ceiling in his dark apartment, Robert’s smirk replayed again and again. The memory weighed on him like a stone.

At first, Mark’s wrath was quiet. He would outwork Robert, prove him a fraud. He arrived earlier, stayed later, accepted projects until exhaustion bent his shoulders. Still, Robert glided through the office untouched, laughter trailing behind him. His every success felt like an insult, a blade twisting deeper.

When Mark’s manager pulled him aside for a “performance check-in,” warning him about burnout, the stone cracked.

“He’s doing it again,” Mark muttered in traffic that night, knuckles white on the wheel. “Making me look weak.”

Wrath whispered back: Do something about it.

It festered. Robert’s voice grated. His presence filled every room, every hallway. At home, Mark scribbled in a notebook, pages full of bitter vows. He won’t get away with this. Not again.

By December, his notebooks overflowed. His sister noticed first.

“You sound different,” she said during a late-night call. “Like something’s eating you alive.”

He laughed it off, but her words stung. Yes, something was eating him—chewing through his sleep, his patience, his life.

One rainy evening, Mark followed Robert into the parking garage. Their footsteps echoed in the damp air. Robert hummed as he unlocked his car, unaware of the figure in the shadows. Mark’s hand wrapped around his house key, picturing it carving a jagged line down Robert’s spotless sedan. His arm twitched. His pulse roared.

But he froze. He only stood there, chest heaving, as Robert drove away into the night.

The holiday party was the breaking point. Mark almost stayed home, but the thought of Robert giving a toast dragged him there.

The ballroom glittered with lights. Robert’s voice rang out smooth and confident. “Another successful year—thanks to teamwork, dedication, and a little creativity.”

Applause erupted. Mark snapped.

“Creativity?” he shouted, shoving through the crowd. “You mean stealing ideas and pretending they’re yours?”

The room froze. Dozens of faces turned. Robert’s smile faltered. “Mark, maybe we should—”

“No.” Mark’s voice cracked like a whip. “Everyone here deserves to know who you really are.”

Murmurs rose. A manager stepped in, urging calm. Robert shifted, uncomfortable for once. For a fleeting second, Mark felt victorious. He had exposed him.

Monday morning shattered the illusion. HR called him in: complaints about his behavior, warnings about his temper. He was “not a good fit.” By noon, Mark carried a cardboard box out of the building.

His apartment greeted him with silence. His notebooks lay open on the table, pages dark with anger. Robert’s name still shone in company press releases. Mark’s own disappeared overnight.

Wrath had promised him justice. Instead, it hollowed him out and left him empty-handed.

Late one night, he stood at his window, staring at the city lights blinking against the dark. His reflection looked back: gaunt, hollow-eyed, older than his years. For the first time, he whispered the truth aloud.

“I let him win.”

The city kept shining, uncaring. Behind him, the notebooks lay waiting, filled with the ashes of his wrath.

Word Count: 1,901