Revenge is Sweet

Revenge is Sweet

Mud splattered; debris occupied the battlefield; dust charged into the trenches; screams echoed all around. The sirens wailed its last cries as automatic machine-gun fire tore through the defences as if it were paper. People cowered, and deserted. However, the bullets sealed their fates. One by one they slowed down, and an invisible hand dragged them down beneath the ground and disappeared - along with the life inside.

Death stared at me; in me; through me, and I felt all the happiness, joy and laughter accumulated in this life siphoned away with all that’s left being despair. I screamed. My body began to shake, it no longer listens to me anymore, my vision is slowly narrowing - all I see is red, but I can feel darkness creeping into me. I can hear more cries of agony and destruction, but now more distant and muffled.

I remember what grandpa used to say: “close your eyes, take a deep breath and count to 3, then everything will be fine.”

***

I burst out under my covers, sweat covering every inch of my body, breathing heavily as I surveyed the room I’m now in.

A dream?

“Heh…” I manage a chuckle through my sore throat.

A memory, perhaps. One which I hope to forget. Though I don’t think this cruel world will allow me to.

As I got out of my messy bed, a wave of dizziness hit me like the blade of a bayonet, piercing deep within me imprinting my memories red. I reach for the canister next to me; pain recoils through my system as I swallow down the last 2 capsules. The bitterness spreads like poison and I toss the empty bottle across aimlessly, shifting around piled-up garbage among a room in turmoil.

“Am I looking for something?” No, I replied to myself, giving my head the pleasure of another moment occupied so I don’t have to remember.

My hand momentarily brushed against something among the neglected shelves. A picture, a souvenir from the once coloured past that’s been forgotten through the endless sorrow. My deceased husband.

Shuffling down the stairs, I permanently shut the door to my one-bedroom apartment – which the government so generously paid me with in compensation for a half of me. I look out of the stairwell window - peering through the gathering frost - down to the streets. Vendors litter the pavements and try to put on their most deceiving smiles to lure in customers. They gathered and wondered about, empty smiles hanging on their faces like masks.

Snow piled up in front of the window. People sometimes asked me things like: “How are you doing?” or “Are you okay?” or “Do you miss him?”  probably out of pity or compassion, or maybe a bit of both. But do I miss him? The reflection on the window - which connected my anguished truth to the deceitful pleasure of the world - offered me a hollow smile. I miss him.

Outside, the blankets of snow fell upon each other as more descended. The sky was a colourless grey, with no end and no beginning to the melancholic clouds that drifted across the deepening pool of regret.

Suddenly a hole appeared in the ocean of snow that has gathered on the street. Then another hole. The snow that once formed a blanket was now being shattered, ripped apart and desolated. Bullets rained down from above and melted the white soldiers. None was spared as volley after volley of ice punctured the lines of snow, spearheading them into a retreat down the drains. A loss in battle is temporary, yet the sacrifices made were permanent. Not a single speck of white was seen after the battle, hail sent by the sky decimated their army.

Now the hail stopped.

Drops of tears were being shed by what they have brought. The wrath of Hades did not spare any as the sky wept of the loss. I know that feeling all too well: the spear of despair; the sword of sorrow; and the scythe that reaps the suffering. I miss him. I remember all too clearly the face of the woman that murdered my husband with her selfishness. Each time I’m reminded, I was always brought to that same place.

       ***

Silence overwhelms me as I kneel there in front of a body that somewhat gives a strong resemblance to my husband. Red covered my hands as more red spread across the once white uniform. The innocent colour white has lost yet another battle. I stretched out my hand, savouring what warmth I could salvage. I brushed across his paling skin and let out a heart wrenching shriek. I miss him.

       ***

Engrossed in memory I didn’t realize the shadow that had crept up behind me, darkness loomed over as it retreated back up the stairs. I followed without questioning my instincts. I raced up the stairs in pursuit as my head pounded like a bell marking the end of a ceremony. I miss him. My limbs ached along with my heart for reasons I cannot describe as I ran after the shadow; breaching into the very door that I had locked moments before. Fire ignited from deep within me as the scent of revenge flickered beside me. Blood pumped through my veins that longed for the sweet revenge; my hair stood up as heat built up from my burning soul called out the revenge. I miss him. I held a gun - procured into my hands by powers I cannot understand - steadily between my palms and pointed it straight at the face of my enemy. Since that day I have been anticipating this moment. Anger flowed out of me and into the chamber of the gun like molten lava until a memory was stabbed into me. I miss him.

***

Mud; debris; dust; blood all around; and a helpless girl knelt there in a crimson pond of remorse. The one who murdered my husband was me. I miss him. My own foolishness and selfishness.

***

However, a debt is a debt and it must be paid. I raised my gun and pointed it straight at her. I miss him. I looked up at the enemy in front of me. My fingers closed in around the trigger, ready to fire the shot. I miss him. Ready to end our suffering. I miss him. Ready to end my husband’s revenge. I miss him. I closed my eyes. I miss him. I took a deep breath. I miss him.

One. I.

Two. Miss.

Three. Him.

Then a profound peace overwhelmed the silence.