Sunday, March 20, 2011

She'll Get Hers.

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She’ll get hers.

Destroying something beautiful will set you free. How cliché of me to believe that. The beautiful destruction is nearly complete and I’m no more free than when I started.

Yet I’m standing over the body of this pristine creature gutting her insides and making ground meat out of her face. White skin completely emaciated and ripped clean from the bones.

Hmph! The broken bones. Well that’s worth a giggle.

What’s left of her golden hair remains tangled among sticky red, squirmy goo, which from my perspective… well it could be brains. Oh who knows? This spectacular mess is truly immature of me. All of it is nothing more than a temper tantrum that’s gone array. But it couldn’t be helped. At least not from where I was standing.

She had this coming and I don’t feel bad for it either.

She’ll get hers,” is the thought that crosses my mind as I watch the conniving little bitch, with her short skin-tight black hooker dress, walk over to the car.

Your car. Our car. A black ‘68 Camaro. It’s the same one I gave you for our five year anniversary. The custom upholstered black leather interior with the red piping that you wanted. Nothing was too good for my guy until now, when the very glue that holds us together is being tested by this cheap piece of trash. Fortunately the same interior will hide any spill including blood.

With a flick of my cigarette I open the door. She slinks on over and slides in. I’m behind you Bitch and I’ve been anticipating this all night.

She carried on all the time. You were never the first or only one in her line-up. In front of my very own eyes I’d seen far too many players. Men. Women. Possibly animals?

Hmmph! SLUT!

It never made a bit of difference. Because it wasn’t sufficient to break up my home, she wanted more.

Enough!

Why should this filth be allowed to parade around in this manner? My limit had been reached and I was certain to catch her in the act. And I did.

She was always particularly interested in the chasing tail late at night. Right after a roll in the sheets with my man she couldn’t help herself but look for more. Couldn’t get enough and just like clockwork, there she was… Creature of habit. Another bar, another mark, another night.

Trollop.
Home-wrecker.
Whore.
Same thing. Different names for it.

You know THAT girl; the one that’s scheming and sabotaging her way into one bed after another without consequence. The type of filth you wouldn’t consort with. Needless to say, this type of common woman had weaseled her way into my home. And I’m about fed up with this game. I’m tired of defending my actions when I’m not the one to blame.

Sadly, I can’t blame you for all of your indiscretions with this common filth. This type of woman saw you coming and went for the kill.

Somehow the trick seemed to be in getting her alone to communicate my point of view. And honestly that proved to be less of a challenge.

When I picked her up in the bar, it was like a stranger giving candy to a child. Without much convincing the little Harlot just about jumped on me when I bought her a drink. Her eyes all lit up like a holiday when I flashed the ring on my finger. It’s the promise of money and a little two for one fun that gets the little bitch giddy.

After making my final offer clear, getting her out to the car required little effort. She could see the money, smell the excitement and taste the pleasure. But it’s funny though with all her senses working overtime she never saw the crowbar coming, especially when it caught the back of her skull after nailing her square in the face. Her tightly bound body slumped over in the seat without much effort as I gave in a little more.

 Just like she wanted.

Off into the dark night I carefully maneuver the car out along an unmarked road by the highway. There shouldn’t be anyone along this stretch of road until it’s too late. Delicately, I pull what’s left of the tramp out of the car.

After dragging her body onto the road, I gently remove my tools of the trade: Hammer, knife, screwdriver, and a pair of scissors for fun. By the time I’m finished, there’s going to be no chance of anyone identifying the body. No one will be able to guess that this wasn’t an accident. An accident where some unsuspecting motorist will assume he’s run over a wild animal.

Little to no skill is required to beat a human senseless with a hammer. So I proceed without caution. The thin lifeless body lies across the asphalt as I pummel down with my barbaric weapon. Uncontrollable rage can pretty much take over in an instant without any warning. Like a surgeon, the real skill comes in knowing when to stop.

The bloody hole of red spatters back at me and gasps for air. There’s no real face left and her sluggish breathing signals my cue to stop. “Darling, you really should have stopped at one tonight. That last one was my man you messed with and no one gets away with that!”



Revenge revisited and revised. a lot of things can change, including how you perceive. When you work against someone you are only working against yourself. There’s no vengeance necessary, but simply vocalizing it feels better sometimes. And don’t worry about it… they will get theirs. Because the best revenge is SURVIVING. Continuing and succeeding on your own terms is enough of a reminder to anyone who ever wronged you. This is an older one, possibly one of the oldest. The notes go back to 08. It was first posted with a tweak in 09. This is the closest and furthest from the original idea. Working on the older darkness makes me nostalgic and grateful. It also reminds me that it’s almost time to let loose a little more. If you’ve never read the original… take a look, She'll get hers (09) 

enjoy. kisses. m.

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