The crowd all at once gasped in shock as little chubby-cheeked Blue-eyes suddenly ran past the bride and groom and flung the ring into the lake, pillow and all. “Nice work, chubby-cheeks,” I muttered to the tree I was peering around the edge of, watching intently as the wedding reception turned to chaos, not once taking my eyes off the beautiful bride as I flipped open my wallet and took out the promised ten dollar reward.
Night after night they grumbled about being hungry and dared her to step foot on the floor.
Instead, last night she set up a trip-wire and watched them drag her rapist step-father into the shadows, and smiled.
Claire sobbed hysterically while she watched Tom’s gruesome demise.
The chainsaw ceased its whirl, Tom became still, and shortly thereafter the police arrived.
“If you seek revenge, dig two graves,” said Confucius. I only dug one, because they’ll never be able to pry my hands from his neck.
I used to follow the rule “love quickly, forgive quickly”.
Now I follow the rule “live for revenge, fuck as much as you can”.
She loved me once, but now she’s marrying someone else. No matter – people are filing into the church, and my revenge shall be sweet.
Of all the men she could have or should have married, she had to pick the most venal, corrupt, two-timing, charming rascal that ever drew breath.
When the police asked her why she did it, she replied, “Not for God or country, womanhood or honor, rather, for the pure visceral satisfaction of chopping his beautiful body into pieces.”
They met online, emailed, talked on the phone for over a year, and finally, they were going to meet. Her heart pounded as she sat waiting, her hand in her pocket on the gun she would use to kill the man who had lured her baby sister to her death.
I knew from the beginning I would be wed to my Lord, though I fought my father’s decision bitterly, having privately accepted my lot to rule my family’s lower household. Father longed to raise our name from ashes into greatness, however, so he offered me up to my Lord — a widowed, aging weasel, who had no heir to his name, his stature or his wealth — never guessing such dealings might breed a bitter, vindictive heart in his precious daughter.
“Don’t shoot him,” I ordered the soldier who was about to squeeze the trigger on the hapless 10-year old son of the slain terrorist leader lying supine on the ground. Next moment, I felt the cold blade of the army knife the boy had snatched from its holster in my belt and driven in one fell swoop into my stomach and the triumphant glint in his little eyes with the hand holding the blood-dripping knife hanging loosely by his side.
Eric: You know Hawaii looks really good on you.
Emily: You know Herpes looks awful on you.
Angels sing their welcome and a golden shaft of light appears as I stare at my killer standing over my body which is sprawled on the floor, blood spatter against the wall in a grotesque portrait. The light pulses allowing me to choose forgiveness or revenge.
It was a minute into New Years 2015 and only one question had lingered in my mind, or more so one sobering headache of an epiphany. Where was my damn flying car?
I, the captain of the regiment, won the battle but we, the invading army, lost the war. My distorted body is covered with medals of worms at the enemy’s market-square.
Evil stepfathers tend to make two related mistakes in their lives: 1. beat and bully you when you are 10 and too young to defend yourself 2. beat and bully you purely out of habit when you are 17. My step-father made both mistakes.
I had a best friend called Silver, and once I came home earlier only to find Silver in bed with my husband, who could only muster the words “How ironic” and a smile, before i furiously left, not allowing them to see me in tears. Now, while I am whipping the blood of my husbands bashed head and all is settling, i realize the irony – he used to call me his Gold.
She pulled the trigger over and over while shouting every swear word she knew at the Garrity boys.
Barbara ran out of targets before she ran out of bullets and the pistol fell eerily silent in her trembling hands.
He walked out of Prison a changed man.
After a dime and a half he learned everything he needed to hunt down and kill the bastards who’d framed him.
Gloved hands tightened around his windpipe and red darkness flooded his vision. Then came the whisper, warm against his ear, “there was no need to give my stories only one star.”
Introverted Ida happily poured acid in her ears.
Helpfully, Bob learned to sign.