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04-03-06 | Revenge (1 Viewer)

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Tastes a Little Cold

The ball rolls down the street at a leisurely pace. It gently bumps against the curb and rolls back out in the street, until the curve of the street takes over and guides it motherly back into the gutter. The bright green stripes appear to wobble as the ball rolls away, but the stripes are straight. It’s just an optical illusion.

Little flecks of blood streak it as it weaves its way along trying to find a place to stop.

It finally stops in front of a supermarket, resting in a pothole, gradually deflating as the air leaks out of hole in the side. A car with a dented fender speeds by the store and into the crowd of steel that roams the roads.

At the top of the hill a woman screams and clutches a broken bundle of rags that once owned the ball. She squeezes it tightly trying to force life back into the bundle.

The car wanders down the road, as it bounces off the painted lines. It finds a darkened driveway at the end of the street and crept up it as the garage opens. The car navigates into the garage and the door grounds closed.
With the engine running a man stumbles out of the car, alcohol on his breathe. He rubs his face and reaches out with both hands as he searches for the door knob in the windowless garage. The doorknob is locked and refuses to move.

He turns and falls down the cement stairs and smashes headfirst into the car door, which promptly slams closed. He rolls around on the dirty cement floor and sat up. Instinctively, he brings his hand to his head and after touching it to his wound, sees the blood where the handle split his forehead.

The scope of his predicament starts to sink its way thorough his whiskey soaked brain. The engine still running, he tries the car door to find it locked. He turns and using the car for support, makes his way to the garage door only to find it held fast by the electric opener.

He had neglected to install the opener here in the garage. The only opener is locked inside the car. He looks up at the garage door opener and sees the emergency release.

Climbing up on the trunk on all fours, he breathes very slowly trying to get collect his balance to stand. When he thought he had gained enough equilibrium, he starts to stand very carefully holding his hands out to the sides willing the air to support him.

He reaches up for the handle, it’s red wooden clog of a handle eluding his shaky grasp, when the timed light in the garage opener shuts off.
He falls off the car into a rack of paint and onto the floor. He felt tired, ‘Perhaps’ he thought, ‘I’ll take a little nap and try later.’

The blood speckled ball rolls past his driveway and into the night.

[ot]497, with a bit of cutting. And now some editing. I wrote the beginning about two months ago and changed tenses. Hopefully fixed, Thanks Chris[/ot]

Last edited:

Chris Miller

WF Veterans
The Teacher

The Teacher

Noun 1. revenge - action taken in return for an injury or offense

Once, when I was in college, an accounting teacher posted a list of names of students that he felt had plagiarized a spreadsheet assignment. And I was on it. I had not cheated and was livid that he would not only accuse me, the class keener, but do so publicly and without proof. I confronted the man and he agreed to meet me in the cafeteria to discuss it. I arrived early and waited with my back to a bank of large windows through which the late morning sun was streaming, and grew hot. When my teacher arrived he sat across from me squinting and rubbing his eyes in undisguised discomfort as he looked me in the face and offered his sincere apologies, humbly allowing my puerile strategy to wonderfully succeed. It was his most enduring lesson.


[ot]Ruben, ever consider a career in cheerleading? hehe.

thank you for everyone who has participated so far and yes, it will be closing midnight my time tomorrow. it's 2:54 my time now. do a little math and i'm sure you can figure it out. hehe.[/ot]


A Woman's Art

[an] just because i told Ruben i would....[/an]

A Woman's Art

(500 w/o title)

He was going to meet her later that night. The “other” woman. Mia found it strange how, even as she plotted her course of action, she still referred to her as “the other woman” instead of some foul name. Then again, she’d never been one for outright aggression. She was a subtle, quiet type and that didn’t make for rough language.

Jeff didn’t know she knew and neither did the other woman, his project partner, Cassidy. Mia was no stranger to technology, so when she’d come across the private messages, she’d easily been able to make it look like they’d never been read. What had she been doing in his private message box? Looking for the recipe for the meal she cooked tonight, promised to her by a friend to be sent to Jeff. Jeff, the idiot, had forgotten she had his password.

How fortunate for her.

How unfortunate for him.

“Smells delicious, sugar cake!” he called from his study. “My genius cook fiancé is at it again!”

“All for you, my dear,” she called back, smiling pleasantly so the smile could reach her voice and she would sound in a good mood. “Dinner is ready.”

He nearly ran out of his study and sat down at the table. He moved to serve himself and she motioned for him to relax.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You let me serve. You’ve been working so hard on that project, you deserve a little time to relax.”

“Yes,” he said, mournfully. “I’m afraid it’s going to be another full night for me. I can’t wait until this thing is done.”

I bet, she thought, remembering back to that afternoon when she had called his boss and found out that the project had finally been finished and gone through without a hitch earlier that afternoon.

“It’s been rough,” he said with his mouthful, for some reason eating as fast as he could. “It’s been just one thing after another. A bitch of a project.”

Overcompensating, she thought, pitying him for his lies instead of hating him for them.

“My Mia, this is an excellent…” He blinked and swallowed, putting his hand to his stomach.

“It’s soufflé, darling.”

“Yes, soufflé,” he mumbled as a loud, strange noise came from his stomach. “Peach, I think I might have a sensitivity to your-”

He got up from the chair so fast it clattered back on the floor as he ran to the bathroom and slammed the door behind him.

“Yes,” she said quietly and stood up, “it will be a long night. But not for the reason you thought.”

Poison may be a typical woman’s art, but in that moment, she was happy to be using it. Anyway, poison was only the beginning.

He groaned loudly from the bathroom as she stood outside it. Smiling, she opened the door just enough to roll in the can of air freshener and then closed it again.

So it began. The first step. Revenge best served cold, in a light soufflé.


~ LM Revenge officially closed. Thank you to everyone who entered. ~
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