835 | Illogical Riots

835 | Evan and Diesel Discuss the Logic of Riots and Anger

Chapter 1: Diesel Explains His Anger and Destructive Actions at the Riot to Evan

As Diesel explains his anger and destructive actions at the riot to Evan, the heavy reality of the previous night's vandalism lingers in the courtyard air. Diesel leans against the brick wall of the school courtyard like he owns the shadows. His hoodie is half‑zipped, his knuckles are scraped, and his eyes are bloodshot—not tired, but wired. There’s a jagged energy around him that makes people glance twice and then look away.

Evan notices it and slows down. The hallway noise fades behind him.

“You should’ve been at the riot last night,” Diesel says. His voice carries a kind of dark excitement, like he’s still half there. “It’s insane. Best night I’ve had in a long time. I’m so full of anger and hatred that I feel invincible. Like I’ve got superpowers.”

Evan shifts his backpack on his shoulder, studying him. He wonders how burning things can pass for feeling alive. “What do you actually do with all that ‘power’?” he asks.

Diesel’s eyes light up. His hands start moving like he’s replaying a private movie. “We destroyed a cop car,” he says. “For real. We jumped up and down on it, smashed the windows, kicked off the mirrors, slashed the tires, then torched it. By the time we’re done, it’s just a metal coffin for their stupid authority.”

He grins, satisfied with his own brilliance. “We showed how smart we are and how stupid they are.”

Evan’s expression doesn’t change. “What did the car do to you that made you so angry at it?”

“It’s not about the car,” Diesel snaps. “It’s about the cops who drive it.”

“What did the policeman do to you,” Evan asks, “that makes you this full of rage?”

Diesel shrugs, but his jaw tightens. “He didn’t do anything to me,” he says. “It’s what they represent—restrictive authority. People telling me what to do, what not to do. I’m protesting all law enforcement. They stop me from doing whatever I want.”

“I thought law enforcement exists to protect people from accidents, danger, and criminals,” Evan says. He isn’t lecturing; he honestly wants to understand. “What made you this mad at them?”

Diesel scoffs. “They arrested some guy who ran from them and kept resisting,” he says. “Everyone knows cops just chase quotas. Running from the police is a natural human instinct. So is fighting back. Especially for lawbreakers like me.”

He pushes off the wall and starts pacing, boots scraping the concrete. His thoughts spiral into something bigger and blurrier than one arrest.

“Arresting hoodlums is not politically correct anymore,” he says. “You have to recognize their tragic backstories and use that as an excuse to forgive everything. Criminals just need more time in a kind, understanding society to become ‘harmonious citizens.’”

He snorts. “Throwing all the criminals in one place just teaches them new tricks. Prison is bad education, not justice. Decriminalization is better—it respects everyone’s diverse morals and different goals. Not everyone is the same, so everyone has to be treated the same.”

Evan watches him talk, feeling the gap between Diesel’s personal life and the cause he’s adopted like a costume. “So…why are you personally angry?” Evan asks. “Was this guy a close friend?”

“Never met him,” Diesel says, flat.

“Did this happen here? In our neighborhood?”

“No,” Diesel says. “Not even in our state. It happened, like, a thousand miles away. The guy kept resisting arrest, and he died from his injuries. So now I’ve got a solid excuse to be outraged.”

Evan thinks of the number he saw on the news last week, cold and faceless. “Did you get upset about the other twenty‑one thousand five hundred murders last year?” he asks.

Diesel barks out a laugh. “Of course not. I don’t know those people, and I don’t care. But this one? The media showed hours of videos of that dude getting beaten by five cops while he fought them off. I watched all of it twice. Slowed it down, replayed the hits. It’s as good as a movie—better, because it’s real.”

He steps closer, his voice dropping like he’s sharing a secret ritual. “My friends and I are having a rage party this afternoon to watch all the clips again,” he says. “We’re getting our masks, our designer black hoodies, fireworks, bricks—everything. Tonight is pure outrage.”

He closes his eyes for a second, almost savoring the feeling. “When I watch, something wakes up inside me,” he says. “Anger. Hatred. Vengeance. It builds up until I have to release it. I call it cold‑fire. It burns through me, but it leaves me frozen afterward. I like that. I feel like a different person—like I finally get to be my raw, animal self. No rules. No guilt. Just impact.”

He opens his eyes, fixing them on Evan. “You should watch with us,” Diesel says. “Let it get to you. You’ll stop thinking and start acting. We’re bringing paintball guns with frozen paintballs so the officers feel our pain. We’ll make them realize we’re not just stupid kids.”

The bell rings in the distance, but neither of them moves.

Chapter 2: Evan and Diesel Debate Media Influence, Changing Laws, and Finding Power in Dark Feelings

As Evan and Diesel debate media influence, changing laws, and finding power in dark feelings, neither boy seems willing to walk away from the escalating argument. They stay in the courtyard as the crowd thins, lockers slam, and doors shut. Evan doesn’t step back. Diesel doesn’t cool down.

“Who even posted the videos?” Evan asks. “Some hacker? Someone stole police footage and leaked it?”

Diesel shakes his head, a crooked smile forming. “Nope. The news put them out,” he says. “Every angle. Every scream. Every swing. They wanted the whole world to see how bad those five cops looked.”

He tilts his head, remembering. “They said we should protest peacefully,” he adds, lowering his voice. “But that’s just the surface message. The secret message is for people like us. Young people. We hear what they can’t say out loud.”

Evan narrows his eyes. “And what’s that?”

Diesel’s gaze goes past the school buildings, out toward the invisible city beyond. “They’re telling us to stand up for our rights,” he says. “To prove we’re mature enough for freedom by smashing every symbol of their rules. Cops. Courthouses. Stores. Statues. If they’ve got a badge or a rule book, it needs to burn.”

He kicks a pebble, watching it skitter. “We need a law,” he says, “that says all laws are unfair and have to go away.”

“So you prove your maturity and power,” Evan says, “by looting, burning, and destroying things?”

“You got it,” Diesel says, brightening. “It’s the only way to get the media’s attention. We’re miserable—unhappy, depressed, hopeless. So we riot to create more order.”

Evan stares at him. “You burn things to get order?”

Diesel shrugs like it’s obvious. “What things do you want to change, exactly?” Evan asks.

Diesel throws his arms wide. “Everything,” he says. “Have you not noticed the planet? The system? People? Everything has to flip if we want real equality and total freedom to live however we want.”

He spits on the ground. “Laws are too strict, and there are too many. I want real progressive change, not this ‘Back to the Old Constitution’ junk adults love.”

He starts listing his borrowed grievances, each one bigger than the last. “Discrimination is the root of economic problems, global warming, pandemics—pretty much everything,” he says. “The answer is simple: everyone should get to live inside their fantasy and get paid for it. That’s justice. People like me, people in pain, won’t feel better until the whole world turns upside down.”

Evan watches the twitch in Diesel’s jaw, the way his fists clench and unclench. “Could your suffering,” Evan asks quietly, “be coming from the anger and hatred you keep feeding?”

Diesel’s eyes sharpen like broken glass. “Don’t try to take my anger, hatred, and revenge away from me,” he snaps. “I’ll beat you senseless.”

He steps closer, voice low and deadly serious. “You don’t get it,” he says. “There are no other feelings like this. My dark feelings give me the power I need to break out of fear, doubt, and hopelessness. When I feel them, I don’t feel small anymore.”

He starts pacing again, trapped in a small rectangle of concrete like a caged animal. “These intense feelings force me to act,” he says. “To do something. I call them cold‑fire because they light me up but leave me empty afterward. I’ll admit they make me do stupid things, but at least I’m not just sitting there.”

He laughs suddenly, repeating his twisted motto. “A riot in time saves nine,” he says. “That’s my rule. Rioting is better than rotting on a couch watching videos. When I close my eyes, I can feel it all again—stomping the police car, breaking glass, watching everything burn. Those memories are alive. You don’t have them. Your life must be boring.”

His words hang between them like smoke.

Chapter 3: Diesel Defends Revenge and Destruction as Virtuous Rebellion Before Evan Walks Away

While Diesel defends revenge and destruction as virtuous rebellion before Evan walks away, the fundamental disconnect between their worldviews becomes absolute. Evan studies Diesel carefully now, like he’s trying to read a message written in fire. That restless cold‑fire seems to flicker right behind Diesel’s eyes.

“What’s so special about your dark feelings?” Evan asks. “What makes them worth clinging to?”

Diesel straightens up, shoulders squaring, as if the question is a compliment. “My cold‑fire fills me,” he says. “It leaves no room for weak stuff like kindness or mercy. When it’s burning, I’m an invincible warrior. I’m ready to go to war with brainwashed cops and anyone who sides with them.”

He jabs his finger at the air. “Anger comes with its own code,” he continues. “It's its own set of morals, like self‑defense. Once you shout ‘self‑defense,’ laws don’t matter. You get to do what you have to do. That’s what anger does to my brain. Logic and common sense line up behind it like a bulldozer and run over anything in the way.”

He sweeps his arm like he’s clearing a table. “Don’t stand in front of me when I’m pissed,” he warns. “I’m charging forward at full speed to destroy whatever’s causing my discomfort. Hatred isn’t warm or fuzzy. It’s cold and sharp, like a blade. It doesn’t care—it just moves.”

He almost smiles. “Revenge can spread,” he says. “You can infect other people with it. Make them want to hit back at whoever makes them feel small and useless. When my cold‑fire is burning, I feel fool‑filled. Full. It pushes me to be outrageous, stupid, destructive, and crazy.”

He shrugs. “It takes over and controls me,” he admits. “Like when I’m drunk.”

“Do you really think losing control is a good thing?” Evan asks.

“Of course,” Diesel says instantly. “If I’m not in control, then it’s not my fault. I can’t be held responsible. In that moment, I’m someone else—or something else. So blame that, not me.”

Evan exhales slowly. “I see the whole picture now,” he says. “You freeze when you’re scared. That makes you feel weak and depressed. So you run into fantasy and make‑believe, where you can pretend you’re powerful instead of learning real skills.”

He meets Diesel’s eyes. “You imagine victory instead of working for it. Your wild emotions push you into wild violence. They trick you into thinking you’re changing the world when you’re just breaking things.”

He pauses. “Give me one solid example,” Evan says. “How should things change?”

Diesel doesn’t hesitate. “The Colorado River is drying up,” he says. “People upstream in Colorado keep taking all the water for their cities. They’re selfish. The people downstream don’t have enough for their desert cities.”

Evan waits.

“People deserve to live in warm deserts with endless water,” Diesel continues. “So we need laws that force Colorado people to use less water. They can drink soda and coffee instead.” He shakes his head. “But they won’t. They’re selfish.”

“What’s your solution?” Evan asks.

“A riot in time saves nine,” Diesel says again, like a spell. “The downstream people should come to Colorado and get the media’s attention. Break windows. Torch businesses. Then the system will change.”

He keeps going, voice speeding up. “Humans are destroying the planet,” he says. “So we need more laws to stop them from doing whatever they want. No more gas cars or gas stoves—only electric. People should stop buying new stuff. Stop throwing away old cars and appliances.”

He doesn’t notice his own contradictions piling up. “We need wind energy,” he says. “But we also have to stop killing whales and birds with wind turbines. We need enough food for everyone, so we have to shut down all farms that use toxic fertilizers and pesticides.”

His eyes glitter. “Destroying our hometown is a powerful sacrifice,” he says. “If we wreck everything, the leaders can’t pretend we’re fine. They’re stuck in their own fantasy of how the world works. We have to hurt them enough, so they feel ours.”

“Do you really think this is virtuous?” Evan asks.

“Absolutely,” Diesel says, with no hesitation. “We take pride in our rage—that’s courage. We want to hurt others—which means we’re ‘fighting for harmony.’ We make noise and cause damage—so we must be righteously angry. We obey our inner demons. At least we’re honest.”

He squares his shoulders. “I’m honest about wanting revenge,” he says. “Anyone who fights back against oppression is a hero, even if they break the law. Rebellion is one of the highest virtues because it attacks oppression. Oppression isn’t virtuous, so rebellion is.”

A shadow crosses his expression. “We’ll riot every night if we have to,” he says. “Until the world bends. I don’t care if innocent people go to jail with criminals. They can be ‘good examples.’ Maybe it’ll wake them up, too.”

Evan looks at him and realizes the conversation is no longer about facts or logic. Diesel’s cold‑fire burns too bright to make space for either.

“Thanks for the chat,” Evan says at last. He turns toward the school doors. “I’m going to go have an intelligent conversation with my cat statue now.”

Diesel laughs and calls after him. “Everything I’m saying would make more sense if you were stoned!” he shouts. “Come on—let’s get drunk. That always makes things clearer for me.”

Evan keeps walking.

Behind him, Diesel leans back against the brick wall, alone with his cold‑fire—and the secret, creeping silence that always shows up after the flames die down.

Chapter Synopsis:

Evan and Diesel engage in an intense debate in the school courtyard regarding Diesel's participation in destructive riots, his embrace of dark emotions, and his belief that vandalism and revenge constitute a virtuous rebellion against authority. While Diesel glorifies his rage and destructive actions as a powerful escape from powerlessness, Evan challenges the logic behind these violent outbursts and fake grievances, ultimately walking away when Diesel refuses to abandon his destructive mindset.

Core Themes & Laws:

• The danger of romanticizing rage, revenge, and destructive behavior as a form of empowerment

• The role of media influence in amplifying outrage and encouraging civil unrest

• The contradiction between demanding absolute freedom and advocating for authoritarian restrictions

• The importance of personal accountability versus blaming systemic oppression for personal suffering

• The stark contrast between destructive fantasy and true spiritual wisdom or self-mastery

Key Entities Featured in this Document:

• Evan: A student who attempts to reason with Diesel, questioning the logic of riots, anger, and displaced rage.

• Diesel: A volatile student who revels in destruction, views his anger as an invincible superpower, and advocates for riots as a method for social change.

• Colorado River: The geographic and resource dispute cited by Diesel as an example of societal unfairness requiring violent intervention.