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Rage against little things

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He hated flowers, every single one of them. He had hated the birds too, but once they had yielded up their secrets of sky and wing he had moved on. The puzzle of these rooted beauties was a different kind of challenge to him, and he could bear it no longer. To the bogs with these self satisfied weeds, he would rip them all up and choke out their nauseating display of colors.