A Collection of Stories

Irony At Its Best

"REVENGE... IS LIKE A ROLLING STONE, WHICH, WHEN A MAN HATH FORCED IT UP A HILL, WILL TURN UPON HIM WITH A GREATER VIOLENCE AND BREAK THOSE BONES WHOSE SINEWS GAVE IT MOTION." - JEREMY TAYLOR

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"It is quite unusual for Becca to be late, isn't it?" someone says to their companion.

I smile.

I smile because I know something everyone else at this little soiree doesn't. That Becca won't be joining us tonight... oh yes, I made sure of that. And why should she? To smile and laugh and charm everyone like the witch she is? No... I think not. Her wrongdoings have gone on for too long.

I ponder my glass while casting cool glances about the room. A gentleman with a mop of white hair and spectacles catches my eye, reminding me of the vicar and our conversation after the service; the sermon's theme had been vengeance, ironic really considering I'd been thinking such thoughts for weeks. I smirk as his nasally voice enters my head:

"'Vengeance is mine, says the Lord'," he had said, his kind, old eyes full of patience and conviction. He held his Bible and cross as though the Good Father of heaven had sanctioned it himself. "Has he not spoken thus to you and me, child?..."

Ah... the good ol' vicar! So upright in his faith, I'll give him that. And I could never contradict his words, which were as true as day. ' "Vengeance is mine," says the Lord...' but if wiping one of your fellow beings from the face of the Earth spared five times as many people, (with a slip of revenge on your part) certainly God can pardon it, can't he?

Vengeance fuelled my desire for justice; that and Becca's venomous smile. The wicked glint in her eyes whenever I saw her made me crawl hither and thither to the gates of damnation. And I could have done it—could have spared myself from such abominable wickedness. I could have taken the path of righteousness, but sometimes God can be cruel! The very weakness we attempt to overcome with struggling patience and diligence He'll place before our very noses expecting us not to jump at it! Some people pass that tempting obstacle with dignity and fortitude—bless their souls! But for those like myself... the desire to sin is simply too strong.

But can one call my deed an act of sin and leave it as such? If so, what of justice? Had she not killed my John? The man I'd loved my whole life yet remained nothing more to him than a devoted friend from our childish years? Had she not deceived him and the world with him only to inherit his fortune and rear a child that bore his good name but was not of his blood? Oh yes, I knew the cunning, slanderous, and abominable woman she was! I knew but could prove nothing and she—oh, how she revelled in my agony! How she mocked me for years and years until I vowed someday somehow I'd avenge John, my precious idiot whom she fooled and charmed with her beauty and lying lips.

And as promised, I've fulfilled my vow, and justice, sweet, darling justice, has been served at last and a reigning peace overcame me when the deed was done.

It has been nearly ten hours since she smiled that familiar yet strangely unfamiliar smile of hers. No one would know about it and I smile at the shimmering red wine in my glass. The authorities would never link me to the crime that had been carried out to perfection, which was surprising considering how unexpected the opportunity was .

I sigh. At last, I am free of her snares and callous nature. My John may rest peacefully in his grave. It is too bad for the child, though, innocent as he is to all this madness. I hadn't thought of him until now... oh, well, he deserves far better than her. The thought grants me some comfort. I smile and inhale deeply.

' "Vengeance is mine," says the Lord...' I chuckle. I believe you, Father... but I couldn't wait that long.

"Ah, Becca!" some old fool blunders. "We thought you wouldn't make it."

I chuckle again, turning in his direction.

She stands before us, her red lips turning up at the corners in that detestable way. I shake my head and suddenly smile, too.

"Dear Mr. Langford, I am sure we are all entertained by your delusions. Why don't we sit here and have a good chat, hmm?"

"Mummy! Mummy!" a child throws himself at the woman in such a way, I expect him to fall over but when they touch, flesh to flesh, my body freezes and my glass slips from my fingers. Every muscle tenses like copper wire and my hand trembles awkwardly. It becomes hard to breathe and a draft creeps across my exposed skin.

Becca. It cannot be. I left her dead... or had I? Had I only imagined it then? Had I not watched her cold, beautiful body fall into the shadows of the unliving? Was it not her who smiled at me when I'd entered her room? Did I only play the scenario in my head all this evening and convinced myself that it had really happened?

I tremble, not understanding or acknowledging the fuss everyone is making around me. I focus my gaze and frown. How is it I'm facing the ceiling? Have I fallen? Surely I hadn't fainted! I do not do such ridiculous things as that! Suddenly, she's before me with those wicked eyes. She is saying something and looking at me just as she used to. I've lost my reserve and shrink from her outstretched hand. She sickens me and the child clinging to her I suddenly loathe. The old doctor in our company settles me down with something strong but I never take my eyes off her as she glides about, mingling and laughing and treating her boy to sweets.

"We thought you wouldn't make it, dear," someone says.

"I was expecting to meet someone, you see, but," she frowns, "she never showed."

"Who was it Mummy?" the boy asks with inquisitive eyes.

"Your aunt, darling—my sister. We'd planned a big surprise for you all, too—it would've been smashing!" She laughs. "She's my twin, and you'd never have been able to tell us apart—we'd even bought identical dresses for the occasion."

A scream escapes me as I pounce, reaching for her elegant white throat. Strong arms catch me midway.

"It should have been you!" I spit maliciously. "You witch! It was supposed to be you!"

Ironic, isn't it?

' "Vengeance is mine," said the Lord.'

Yes.

In the end... I suppose it is.