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Revenge
Topic Started: Nov 3 2016, 01:40 AM (22 Views)
Drew
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"Justice belongs to those who claim it, but let the claimant beware lest he create new injustice by his claim and thus set the bloody pendulum of revenge into its inexorable motion" - Frank Herbert

I don't have much to say about last week. I know this is the part where I talk about my previous opponent and tell you how hard-fought a win it was, or how I got screwed if I lose. But I don't feel like talking about last week. Last week was last week. All's I'll say is this: good game, Ironclad. Your schtick may be a bit copyright-infringe-y, but you're a good fighter. Keep it up.

Anyway, on to the next one. And this oughta be fun!


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Location: Smith Residence, Odessa, TX
Date/Time: 11JUL83, 0456 Hours CDT


I couldn't sleep.

It was supposed to be my summer vacation. But as usual, my mom and dad were fighting again. It's always easy to tell what it's about, because the madder my mother gets, the more Spanglish comes out. Now my dad is as West Texas Roughneck as it gets, so he knows about as much Spanish as a McDonald's cashier in North Dakota. But he DID know that as soon as she got in one of her moods, he should run for the hills... sometimes.

Today wasn't one of those days.


John David Smith Jr.: God DAMN it, Lupe! Ah already said that Ah ain't got no more money for you this week! Now will you shut the fuck up before you wake JD up? Hell, Ah wouldn't be surprised if that li'l shit was already awake on account'a you!

Guadalupe Smith: Tu eres el hijo de puta, John Smith... I know you're holding out on me, and we have bills to pay to keep this casa up and running. And don't you ever tell me to shut the fuck up! You're not mi jefe!

I heard a *CRACK* come from the other room, and even at 10 years of age, I knew what that was. That was dear old dad trying to show my mom who the REAL boss of my house was. That noise was followed by a loud clattering of pots and pans being thrown at the door as my dad left for work in the oil fields for Occidental Petroleum, or OXY as it was known to the rest of us.

Guadalupe Smith: You're no man! Eres un puto perro, John Smith, and I swear to you, por Dios y mi madre, if you ever lay a hand on me again, I'll kill you! Do you hear me?!? Te voy a matar!

I heard dad's pickup truck engine gun; no doubt he was going to be pissed off--and probably drunk--when he came home tonight. I rolled back over in my single bed, staring at the ceiling in the dark, wondering why my family had to be this way. I knew the other kids at school didn't suffer like I did; they all had their families, with brothers and sisters and happy parents and the two car garage and a dog and all that other stuff.

Why not me? Why did *I* have to have two parents who couldn't stand each other? Where was MY picket fence?


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Location: Smith Residence, Odessa, TX
Date/Time: 11JUL83, 1941 Hours CDT


When you're ten, you have zero responsibilities. When you're ten, have zero responsibilities, and it's your summer break? You have no reason to stay in the house. After the personal contact that my mom and dad had with one another this morning, I decided that it didn't matter what I did today; I wasn't coming home until the street lights came on. Even then, if I could get away with it, I'd stay out as late as I could.

It was almost 8 when my mom stepped outside the door of our single-story ranch style home and shouted for me. Her voice was frantic, and I could tell she'd been crying.


Guadalupe Smith: JD! Ven va ca! Ahora!

I knew that there was no hope for argument when it was all in Spanish, but in my ten year old brain, I had to try. I got all the toys I'd taken outside with me--not that I had much, really--and headed toward the house.

JD: But moooooommmm... it's summer vacation! I don't have school tomorrow. Why do I have to come inside?

As I got closer, I could see the tears streaking her cheeks, and the protest for coming home died on my lips.

Guadalupe Smith: I'll explain inside. Just get in here.

She was furiously wiping at her eyes and looked around to make sure none of our neighbors were being nosy and looking out the door. She slammed the door behind her and sat me down in the nearest chair.

Guadalupe Smith: JD, I'm afraid I have some bad news. It's about your papi. There was an accident down at one of the OXY fields, and...

She couldn't get the rest out, but I had a feeling I knew what it was.

JD: Is dad...dead, mama?

She nodded, and began to wail. She hugged me close, crying into my hair.

Guadalupe Smith: Mi hijo, mi hijo, mi hijo... I can't believe he's really gone.

The next thing I said may have surprised me more than mom.

JD: Good.

That caused my mother to pull away from me.

Guadalupe Smith: 'Good'? You think your papi being dead is a GOOD thing?

JD: He won't hit you any more, will he?

She seemed genuinely taken aback at my calm demeanor.

Guadalupe Smith: Mi hijo... won't you miss him at all?

I shook my head defiantly.

JD: We don't need him.

Guadalupe Smith: How can you... how could you...

JD: He treated you like crap, mama. He... just wasn't a good dad.

And my mother, who had never missed a chance to speak, looked at me again, wrapped her thin arms around me and held me close, the tears beginning to flow again.

Guadalupe Smith: Te amo, JD... Te amo mucho, mi hijo...

JD: You're not mad?

Guadalupe Smith: You're right, mi hijo. You're right about everything. Somehow, you're much wiser than your 10-year-old brain should make you.

It was my turn to be speechless. My mama let me go and fell to her knees, crossing herself.

Guadalupe Smith: God, please be with our little family through the rest of our days. We'll need more help than ever. Amen.

I smiled, realizing that it really was just my mother and me. Now, had it STAYED that way, my story may have ended differently than now. But that's for another time.


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There are about a million proverbs and sayings regarding 'revenge'. Every culture has one. My personal favorite though is 'Revenge is a dish best served cold'. I've always wondered about why the author chose cold; things that are hot can burn, and eventually anything cold will thaw. But then I got to thinking about it even more, and the answer became clear as day: revenge is a dish best served cold because with the absence of heat, nothing can spoil. Pure, cold-hearted revenge stings the most. It cuts the deepest. It kills with no remorse. And it's been used on me so many times, I know exactly what I'm doing.

Dean Davies. Wife to Eva Broussard--yeah, you read that right. Sexual sadist. Freak show worthy of being in a tent on Coney Island. And making his return to active competition against me. Which, in the eyes of management, is a good idea. But in MY mind?

Big. Fucking. Mistake.

See, I remember your role in torturing my Roxy. You may not have been the one who organized it, or the one who benefited the most, but you were there. You did what you did--at Eva's behest, no doubt about it--and now... It's my turn to play.

I plan on leaving enough of you whole so the man of your house will still recognize you. But that's where my plan ends. Your return to Redemption will be short-lived, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I've actually been secretly hoping that your husband would let you off the chain so I could exact a little revenge for Ms. Freefall.

And here we stand, on the precipice of opportunity. Will I win? I should, but if I don't, it's just another contest. Will I hurt you? Better believe it. It'll be ugly before it's over.

I've waited long enough.

Oh, and Eva? You're next up. Here's hoping you put up more of a fight.

See you Thursday.

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