Lived to kill another day

I can't take it.
I can't take the pretty, condescending smiles.
How they speak slow, talk down to me English.
Bilingual is bilingual.
Period.
How I would love to tear into there throats.
Feel their hot blood drip down my face.
Taste their blood on my tongue.
No longer will the snicker at my Russian accent.
Not with their necks spilling blood on their perfect, prim dresses.
Eyes frozen in a mix of fear and desperation.
I can imagine their petty screams for mercy as they wait their turn for slaughter.
But instead I will smile.
Nod.
Cooperate.
Mutter in Russian when their back is turned.
And walk back to my desk .
Live to kill another day.