Congratulations !
You have been awarded points.
Thank you for !
- Story Listed as: Fiction For Adults
- Theme: Drama / Human Interest
- Subject: Pain / Problems / Adversity
- Published: 07/17/2012
Revenge
Born 1994, F, from Tooele, United StatesRevenge flares in my eyes as I insert a copper key into the dead bolt leading to your apartment. The buzz of whiskey wraps my logic in a chokehold as I swing open the door. The icy chill of my baseball bat cools my fingers as I frolic towards your X-Box, dropping my leather purse to the floor. I raise the aluminum cylinder above my head and grin wickedly.
“We can still be friends.”
SMASH!
“Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
SMASH!
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
SMASH!
The remains of your precious game console lay in millions of plastic shards around my feet. I drop the bat, the clink of aluminum meeting wood echoing throughout your bachelor pad. I snatch one of your many football trophies from your large, chestnut bookcase. I take aim and send the glittering trophy at the 64 inch flat screen that is mounted to the wall. Glass shatters, the screen resembling a spider’s web.
The night you came home smelling of her cheap perfume, the aroma of adultery, plagues my mind. Her coral lipstick contouring the bruises on your neck blurs my vision.
“Bastard!” my foot collaborates with the wall, the dust of dry wall staining my ebony boots.
I recall the bat and my purse, leaving the disaster behind me. I head to the parking lot, whistling a sinister tune. I spy your tangerine Camaro, the car that gave you more pleasure than I did. I stroke the smooth body, apologizing for its tragic fate. I swing the bat, demolishing the headlights. Glass floods the asphalt as the bat kisses the windows. I reach through the disaster, cautious of the jagged edges, and unlock the car. I unzip my purse slowly and retrieve a large butcher knife. The silver blade reflects the lunar rays, giving it a haunting, murderous aura.
“Asshole!” I plunge the knife deep into the leather interior and pull the blade downward, leaving a large gash.
“Cheater!” I send my foot through the wind shield, glass sprinkling my face like snowflakes. My eyes avert to your thousand dollar stereo and a smile plays my lips. Clutching the handle tightly, I stab the radio repeatedly.
I get out, satisfied with the gnarled mess of wires plummeting from the desecrated radio. I run my knife along the metal anatomy of the car, the screech sending ghosts down my spine. I end at the front tire, teasing the rubber with a gentle tickle from the blade.
That October night creeps into my mind. Violence springs into my fingertips and I submerge the bayonet deep into the tire. I move to the second then the third finally the fourth, leaving a trail of one long scratch within the paint.
“What the hell have you done?”
I look up; your face is filled with terror as you look upon your destroyed baby.
I smile at you. “Wait till you see your X-Box and T.V.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
You whimper and fall to your knees. Sobbing consumes the midnight air, your pitiful cries echoing throughout the parking lot. I explode into a fit of hysterical laughter.
“It’s not funny.” You sniffle, snot bungee-jumping from your nostrils.
“It’s hilarious!” I squeal. I retrieve the bat and stumble to you, intoxicated on amusement.
Your eyes grow wide. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”
I drop the bat at your feet, grinning maniacally. “Maybe next time, you’ll think before you cheat.”
Revenge(Nikki Risbeck)
Revenge flares in my eyes as I insert a copper key into the dead bolt leading to your apartment. The buzz of whiskey wraps my logic in a chokehold as I swing open the door. The icy chill of my baseball bat cools my fingers as I frolic towards your X-Box, dropping my leather purse to the floor. I raise the aluminum cylinder above my head and grin wickedly.
“We can still be friends.”
SMASH!
“Please, don’t make this harder than it needs to be.”
SMASH!
“It’s not you, it’s me.”
SMASH!
The remains of your precious game console lay in millions of plastic shards around my feet. I drop the bat, the clink of aluminum meeting wood echoing throughout your bachelor pad. I snatch one of your many football trophies from your large, chestnut bookcase. I take aim and send the glittering trophy at the 64 inch flat screen that is mounted to the wall. Glass shatters, the screen resembling a spider’s web.
The night you came home smelling of her cheap perfume, the aroma of adultery, plagues my mind. Her coral lipstick contouring the bruises on your neck blurs my vision.
“Bastard!” my foot collaborates with the wall, the dust of dry wall staining my ebony boots.
I recall the bat and my purse, leaving the disaster behind me. I head to the parking lot, whistling a sinister tune. I spy your tangerine Camaro, the car that gave you more pleasure than I did. I stroke the smooth body, apologizing for its tragic fate. I swing the bat, demolishing the headlights. Glass floods the asphalt as the bat kisses the windows. I reach through the disaster, cautious of the jagged edges, and unlock the car. I unzip my purse slowly and retrieve a large butcher knife. The silver blade reflects the lunar rays, giving it a haunting, murderous aura.
“Asshole!” I plunge the knife deep into the leather interior and pull the blade downward, leaving a large gash.
“Cheater!” I send my foot through the wind shield, glass sprinkling my face like snowflakes. My eyes avert to your thousand dollar stereo and a smile plays my lips. Clutching the handle tightly, I stab the radio repeatedly.
I get out, satisfied with the gnarled mess of wires plummeting from the desecrated radio. I run my knife along the metal anatomy of the car, the screech sending ghosts down my spine. I end at the front tire, teasing the rubber with a gentle tickle from the blade.
That October night creeps into my mind. Violence springs into my fingertips and I submerge the bayonet deep into the tire. I move to the second then the third finally the fourth, leaving a trail of one long scratch within the paint.
“What the hell have you done?”
I look up; your face is filled with terror as you look upon your destroyed baby.
I smile at you. “Wait till you see your X-Box and T.V.”
“You didn’t.”
“I did.”
You whimper and fall to your knees. Sobbing consumes the midnight air, your pitiful cries echoing throughout the parking lot. I explode into a fit of hysterical laughter.
“It’s not funny.” You sniffle, snot bungee-jumping from your nostrils.
“It’s hilarious!” I squeal. I retrieve the bat and stumble to you, intoxicated on amusement.
Your eyes grow wide. “Please, please don’t hurt me.”
I drop the bat at your feet, grinning maniacally. “Maybe next time, you’ll think before you cheat.”
- Share this story on
- 6
COMMENTS (0)