2 minute read
Elizabeth Mason
from Volume 04 Issue 2
by The Echo
Sweet Revenge
Elizabeth Mason
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She was tired of it all.
The constant abuse… the bitter suffering… the ignorance of her friends…
No more.
The ax- the old, wooden ax in her garage, with the splintered handle and the loose, rusted, red face- the ax was her last hope.
She’d called, pleaded, cried for help, but no one came. Those moments spent trapped in creaking limbs, entangled in the vicious thorns that tore at her clothes and skin without remorse could never be reclaimed. The scratches on her arms and legs that she was obligated to hide and the shame that would never fully heal- there would always be that one, fine line on her skin, serving as a ghost of a memory of the wicked, relentless demon that had tormented her up until this point.
She was finished.
It was time; she knew from the rays of sun filtering through her bedroom curtains that this would be the day that she would finally free herself from the beast she could never escape.
She was done: done with the fake smiles, the forced laughter, the reassurances that everything was perfect. She wouldn’t do this anymore.
He would pay.
She couldn’t take long; she had somewhere to go, someone to see, and this nuisance had taken up far too much of her breath, anyway. She didn’t even bother getting dressed- the red may stain, but she didn’t care. That one pink, frilly dress alone had suffered enough abuse over the years to last a lifetime; another stain was nothing.
She went for the ax. Gripping it, gasping with fury, she stood in front of her hunched, cowering victim, reminiscing all the times she had suffered in its clutches, which tore at her clothes relentlessly like a starving animal, with fingers as sharp as rusted, splintered nails.
No one had come, then. Now, there was no other choice. With one sweep, it was all over; the small, wrinkled cherry tree her neighbor had refused for years to take down fell over onto his lawn, splattering cherry juice and leaves all over her arms, face, and dress.
She sighed happily; the homeowners association could stuff their excuses, because it was finally done. Leaving the dead and bleeding tree where it had fallen, she tossed the ax carelessly back into her garage, cleaned herself up as best she could, and went to meet her boyfriend at the diner, licking her lips and treasuring the remains of cherry juice on her tongue. Revenge was sweet, she thought. Very sweet.
surreal
l i t e r a t u r e
Dream-like fiction to pique your imagination.
Luke Hellman
