Well this post is extremely last minute, but I have an excuse (not a surprise, I always do). School is almost out, Easter weekend was busy and to be honest I really was so tired I couldn’t even write. So, here’s a couple of takes on it. One isn’t really a story, more of a random couple paragraphs on my thoughts. The other is a story, but it’s not entirely complete, more of a clip from a book I sometimes work on when I’m stuck on my real book.
To explain the piece below, I liked the prompt that BeKindRewrite posted, ‘his revenge was different than I expected’ but all it made me think of was the Count of Monte Cristo (it happens to be one of my favorite books, though I haven’t read it in awhile) so the piece kind of turned into what I view the book as.
His revenge was different than I expected. Less openly angry and more coldly calculated.
He endured fourteen years of prison and misery to get to it, I thought for sure the man I once knew would be all too eager to taste his revenge. But his trials had changed him. He no longer cared what happened to him, so long as he would have his vengeance before he died. Fourteen years in prison he followed with ten years of studying and preparation. Studying of those who cased his misery, preparing by becoming immune to pain and poison. And when he had finished this harsh school, he came for his revenge.
I watched as he attacked each of them, oh so slowly he exacted his price. His method was nearly barbaric, ripping away first their wealth then their love. Until when all they wished for was death, he pretended to grant their wishes, only to doom them to a life without escape.
But the worst was the revenge he took on his lover. For the woman he loved had waited a mere eighteen months before marrying his enemy. For that woman he planned living terror, taking first her rich life, then her husband, and finally he went to take her son. But something happened. He couldn’t do it. He left the son to her, left her with the poor life she would have had. And when she begged to have him back, he disappeared forever from her life.
My black eyes flash as Elyse shoves a shirt and some earrings in her purse.
“No.” I say, grabbing her wrist. When she gives me a weird offhand glanced I explain, “I already got busted once, I go to juvie if it happens again.”
“Oooo a woman with a record?” She teases and I feel the urge to knock the grin off her face. Then she stops and says seriously, “Doesn’t matter. I’m doing it. Not you.”
I roll my eyes but don’t move to stop her. “Your funeral.”
She grins and heads out the door.
Once upon a time, I probably would have tried to stop her. But that was then, and back then, I used to be someone else.
I used to be the girl who had it made. I got the grades, had a perfect boyfriend, never cussed much. Now look at me. I can’t go four hours without a fix. I dropped out of high school. My parents kicked me out. What happened? I don’t even use my real name, instead I’m known only as Darcy. The girl I used to be, Tony Donavan (don’t ask what possessed my mother to name me that, I don’t know) is all but gone. But every once in awhile, in moments like this. I think of the way I used to be someone else.