Fury & Vengeance  

Posted by pamG

Anger that boils



Like a distant grumble of the nearing storm,
a warning is heard. But sometimes, no one would listen.
They just keep on hitting her, with no limit. She just
tolerated it, though, and endured it. Until she realize
that she was some beat-up punching bag already.
They keep on striking. And drumming. And beating.
And she just closed her eyes, then counted to ten.


But there came a time when it already hurt so much.
She couldn't take it anymore.
She didn't want to be their little puppet anymore.
She wanted revenge.


It was the anger that boiled deep inside her, that
pushed her.
But she closed her eyes.
And she ran away in isolation. She nursed her own
wounds. And tended to her pain. She felt better,
and returned. She had to face the world again.
But she promised herself that she wouldn't allow herself
to become as helpless as before.


She had her head held up high, and she walked
across the room with nothing to fear. Curiousity got
the better of her, and she looked at the people staring
at her. No. No one was staring. No one was looking.
They didn't mind her. They ignored her. They were busy
going about their own business. It was like she was a
ghost. She smiled, contented.


Then, she walked around, as if she wasn't existing.
She roamed around, without garnering any attention.
But something caught her eye.


She moved toward it, and they were laughing.
There was a girl at the middle of the circle. The girl
was bowing her head, and her shoulders were
hunched. Tears were dripping down the side
of her face. They were
making fun of her, and mocking her.
"You are senseless."
"You mean nothing, and you are someone we can not
understand."
"You are much too different to be here, and yet you
stay here."
She walked back slowly. But felt an old wound reopen.


She found herself staring at another setting.
There was a couple, and another girl. The man
was holding his partner in a tight embrace with one
hand. And the other arm was reaching out toward
the other far-out girl. The far-out girl was tightly grasping
the man's hand, and was holding it too closely near her.


Once again, she felt a throbbing pain. And she knew,
that another wound was revived from its passiveness.


She took a step back, and then again, she turned around.


There was another setting. And another. And another.
She could not face it anymore. Everywhere and everything
renewed and refreshed all her wounds and gashes from before.
.


Fresh tears spilled down her restored image--cuts and
abrasions filled her features.


"No. No. It hurts." The soreness, the ache, the twinge,
everything was back. Blood was coating her full body.


Then, all the girls who were slouched and bowed down all
faced her.
"No. No. It can't be. It couldn't be." She was wailing already.


Those familiar faces were far too common to her.
No. Not familiar faces. The familiar face. It belonged
to one person. It belonged to the girl who always
stared back at her when she looked at the mirror every
morning.


"What was this?What is this?! What-the--..."She was shaking her head from left to right.
And everything was blurry. She was about to fall and hit her head, but she stopped.


She stopped turning her head. Color returned to her vision.
But it was no longer the scenes, and the girl with the beat-up face
that filled her perspective.
No. It no longer was.


It was something far different.
Yes. She was coated in blood. Yes. She had cuts and abrasions.
Yes. The pain was still there. But no. It was not her blood.
It was no longer the her face that was painted with pain and
sorrow. It wasn't she who was hurt, and bleeding.
No. It wasn't.



It was Their corpse that was painted
with lasting pain and sorrow. And it was Their cadavers
that was filled with large hacks. It was Their blood
that stained her shaking hands...


...and it was the faces of the ghosts she had created
that were staring sadly at her.














Link to Mr. Vincent Tabor or his blog.

This entry was posted on Sunday, January 23, 2011 at Sunday, January 23, 2011 . You can follow any responses to this entry through the comments feed .

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