011 - say uniform
Kelly was full of hate. His eyes glowed red with rage, and the expression he wore on his face clearly expressed one thing: you're going down, and you're going down hard.
Kelly felt his baseball bat. The wooden surface was full of various nicks, divots, and scratches. These imperfections were not caused by repeated striking against baseballs. Instead, they were gained on the street, where a baseball bat wasn't an accessory for a sport, it was a tool.
Firmly grasping the bat with both hands, Kelly let the first blow loose, and it hit hard. First at the front, then on the sides. With these opening salvos, Kelly did have the slightest pang of doubt. Perhaps he shouldn't be so violent, perhaps this wasn't the right answer? Couldn't there just be a dialogue? Some sort of nonviolent alternative?
Then his hands tightened further, as he redoubled his efforts, as if his own momentary doubts were something that the victim needed to be especially punished for. No, this was the only way. This wasn't the first time he had been screwed out of his money by this one. This was the only way they would learn. Talk accomplished nothing, the only thing that would get him immediate results was a bat and a strong resolve.
The blows kept on coming. With each strike, the victim looked less and less like its original self. At this point there was no going back. Kelly was committed, and the victim had no hope of ever being the same.
Finally, the sound of breaking. Shattering. Exactly what Kelly was waiting for. He wiped the sweat off his brow. Breathing heavily, he paused his barrage, and looked down at what he had created.
The vending machine lay on its side. The glass intended to protect the candy within now lay strewn around the very dented body. Kelly grabbed the M&Ms that the machine had failed to deliver.
"Fair's fair, I get what I deserve," Kelly muttered to the machine, as he used the handle to deliver one final defiant jab at the machine. Then he heard the sirens, and grasping his treats and his bat, he ran.