Revenge - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing
Jimmy opened the envelope and shrieked like a girl, the car stickers had arrived! Tonight, rain or shine, it was game on! He tipped them onto the table and spread them out as if they were gold coins, rubbing his hands together. So many and all of them cats! As he waited on the couch the light seemed to fade more slowly than other nights, it drained away with the reluctance of a small child being lead from the candy counter. He took only one sticker and stole into the dark, dressed casually in jeans and a dark t-shirt. He'd thought of ninja clothes but who in this suburban backwater dressed like that? He stood looking at Mike's car and grinned before placing the sticker on the back window. Then he slunk away. The next night he returned, the cat was gone, perfect. He added two cats. The following night he went at three am, there was no way Mike would keep vigil that long. He added the ninety six remaining cats and slunk away. "There ya go Mike," he thought, "clean that off before work."
Revenge, she had always considered it to be a much belied concept. Knowing that she always served people what they had truly earned kept her happy and serene. They could play their passive aggressive bullshit games and she would smile, nod and give every impression that she was the gracious looser of the skirmish. Then several months later something bad would come their way, some random freak bad luck. A nail in a tire, a scratch on their paintwork, a series of untraceable phone calls in the middle of the night. She liked it best if they were still "friends," that way she could bask in their frustrations as they came to her for sympathy.
The need for revenge was like a rat gnawing at his soul, relentless, unceasing, it could only be stopped by the cold steel of a rat trap, a trap he would devise himself. His need for revenge was like an abscess on the skin of the soul that could only be cured by the cruel sharp steel point of revenge. Festering like a septic wound, and the only effective antibiotic is cold hard revenge. Savage. Spiteful. A dish best served cold. Unforgiving. He would bare a grudge until he died or took revenge, whichever came first. Settling old scores. Brutal. Callous. Satisfying. Empty. Pointless. Excessive. Mean spirited. It appealed to his twisted and dark sense of humour.
The flame has no culture, no pity, no mind, yet it consumes whatever it pleases. Its only criteria is if it can take it and reduce it to ash or something molten and foul, then it will. The flames burn hot, short and violent, with no care what will be left behind. So when I stare into this lit match it isn't fire I see, though the hot tear-drop dances yellow in the August breeze, I see you. I feel you. I recall how you torched my insides until they charred before disappearing with the money. My soul, my everything, was worth less to you than digits in a bank account that have no reality in the world. They are fiction and I am real; but you chose them anyway. So when this flickering spark drops to the gasoline on the ground I hope you know you earned it. More than that, you've paid for it in full.
Riley stood at the edge of the compound, other than the noise of the flags flapping in the near-gale, the wind covered all traces of sound. He cast his eyes upward, the blue peaking out of his brown camouflage paint. His heart beat a little faster to see it, like seeing a traitorous friend, one who had been loved as a brother. In the gathering darkness he couldn't make out the colours, and that suited him fine, he'd be sick if he saw them now. They brought back what he did under that banner, how he was mislead. Elsa said he should let it go, he was lied to, it wasn't his fault - but his inner peace was shattered and he had scores to settle. The clock struck twelve, time to move. One day had ended and a new one begun – the last one for either him or the generals, perhaps both.
My sister is the person I most love and most hate. If I got a black cat she'd run out and buy one blacker. I guess I should be flattered in a way, she watches what I do and emulates it. I wouldn't mind so much if she didn't crow when she does better after courting my help every step of the way. If I drop a dress size, she drops two. If I buy a new suit she get's one tailored. The only thing she can't replicate is Matt and she at least holds back from flirting with him. He proposed last night, with a ring so expensive I'm gonna go back to the store with him to choose something that won't cripple him financially for half a year. But first I'm sending a picture to my sister. I should know better, or so Mom says, being all of eighteen months older, but I can't help it. It's literally the first time she can't one up me in I don't know how long.
"Finders keepers!" the girl crowed, cowering with narrowed eyes toward the passage way. Before she fled between graffitied walls she waved the little book one more time. I think that's when Brian lost his cool. That phrase always bothered him. It's what his older brother said every time he ate what should have been Brian's, and that's not something a growing boy forgets with ease. The last I saw of him was his pale sneaker, worn and grubby, disappearing into that fateful alley. It was me that found him after, me that kept him for his mother. Finders keepers. The diary still got out, she published the lot not caring for the damage to the community. So long as she got hers, that's all that mattered. But you know what they say about revenge. I don't just serve it cold I go for absolute zero. Zero compassion, zero warning, zero second chances, absolutely,
Can you lose your humanity in a single moment? Or can you get it back in an instant? Is humanity something that can leave forever? Or really it always has a deep place inside us all, even when we swear its not there? Some of us show it more than others perhaps. Some of us block it out. I was hardly human.
Do I still have humanity? Do I still have a soul? I was human once. Maybe I had been human the entire time. Maybe I had blocked all my humanity out so I could taste the only thing I craved: Revenge.
If I ever was human after dying, I knew I had lost the right to be called by that title. A human stops being human when a human loses its humanity.