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What is it that defines cruelty? Or more importantly what is it that defines one human’s capacity to be cruel? Where is the breaking point where one man can look at another and say, “I am going to break you. And you will not stop me.” I’ve always wondered at such. Most often I wonder if the latent cruelty I sense in others is merely like calling to like. I don’t think of myself as evil, but I must recognize that devil in my ear. This particular devil is brilliant. It knows how to act, and gives me subtle direction. It tells me how to smile and when to blink to bring someone to their knees. In this voice the weaknesses of others are revealed and mocked; the knowledge of how to catch them is seen clearly. I feel no joy in this. Rather it is a fount of power that seems to sit and stir in the bottom of my belly, as my efforts fall to fruition my veins fill with lead and I am rocked by the power of another’s destruction. Then I halt, and try to see myself as I am. What right have I to bend another’s will? I am no god, nor am I smarter than the rest. So why do I see these lines of weakness, and heed the call to make the others subservient? It’s not that I desire the attention, or want them as my own, but something in me revels in the capturing of hearts. I can’t bring myself to say a harsh word to a friend, but faced with love I find a murderous power welling and all I can think is, “you have no idea.”