The Joy of Flex

In a gym on the frayed fringes of town, I noticed, with a certain degree of uncertainty, a gangly man struggling with the bar bells. I approached, thinking he would be a nice distraction.
"Hello," I said, smiling.
He looked up at me with the eyes of a man who was lusting for malicious attention.
"Here," he said, "you need this more then I do."
He leapt up and made an insulting, swooping hand gesture towards the weights.
"It wouldn't kill you to brush your hair either," he added.
"Yes, but it might kill you," I retorted weakly.
He looked me up and down.
"You are no killer," he said.
"How would you know? Are you a killer?" I shot back.
He considered this a moment then began.
"Am I a killer? Well, I've never killed anything more heart-wrenching than a few flies and the occasional puppy, but who hasn't done that? The real question is, whether I'd be capable of killing. I think, unfortunately, that I could kill in the right circumstances. In my day to day life, I may be worryingly quiet, introverted, even mild-mannered as much as I hate the term, but when I get angry... instead of the nerd you consider me to be at this point, I become more coordinated, stronger, faster, angrier. At this time I could kill." he said.
This was the only point in my life where I seriously considered killing somebody. I didn't know how I'd do it, of course, but the thought was there.
"You do realise I don't care, don't you?" I said in a misjudged attempt at an insult.
"Meh," he shrugged.
God how I hated that word.
After that I resumed my normal life, doing my normal things and eating my three square normal meals a day. Then, fifty years later — when I was 72 — I decided I would have a bowl of cereal to start my day — rolled oats and milk with a few peaches, that is. It was a very spiriting day; the sun wasn't overly bright. Anyway, I was stuffing orange and white spoonfuls into my mouth and thinking about things, and the edge of things, when all of a sudden a large, displeasing sound flattened my sensitive ear-drums. I quickly got to my feat and ran out into my garden — which I hoped led nowhere. What I found was an uprooted tree across my lawn. Having a visual aid, I was much more shocked then you are now.
"Who would do such a thing?" I asked myself aloud — the only luxury of loneliness.
No one answered.
The next day I decided to invest my time — and a little of my money — into the space program and that, so to speak, is what I did. And it took me around four hours — which, I'll tell you, I wasn't fond of losing; but nevertheless I was happy to see my hard-earned seeds sprout. And no, I didn't kill anyone — I never killed anyone; and I don't believe I will. So this rocket of mine was — in my mind — being looked forward to. I decided against catching any diseases that week; I wanted to make sure I'd be around to see it.
I bought I dog. It was a very golden Labrador. It had nice, kind eyes and it ate the dog food I gave it.
I was still weak. I've always been weak. I enjoy being weak.
Then that rocket crashed into the moon — without me aboard. If I was on it, and in charge of something important, I could have killed somebody — though not on purpose.
The next day I made another bowl of breakfast but instead of sitting inside as I usually did, I sat out the back with my dog and we ate together.
The next next day I went into town and reacquainted myself with an acquaintance who talked in such a manner that I was unable to do anything but nod.
The following morning, I once again broke my fast with my dog — out the back.
I marvelled at two distinct forms of plagiarism and went nowhere.