The Plastic Jungle

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

Flit's Idea of a Grand Ol' Time

The run is finished, and the post-run depression hits me like a ton of bricks, or a hammer, or the hand of the old man trying to “correct me” yet again. The first thing I do is head to the apartment. I’m ready to crash for at least a day. As I pull into the apartment parking structure, the growl of my bike echoes across the cold cement. I slide the bike slowly into my assigned spot, and with a loud screech, I scrape the side of the bike along the cement guide post, adding both another layer of color to the post and another scratch to the multitude of already collected scratches on the bike. I gingerly climb off the bike, still sore from where those shit-ass drones unloaded on me. Thank goodness for my armor. I make a mental note introduce the newbies to Rainbow. We need to get them some better gear. It’s too bad the dragon got that Thompkins bitch. I would have loved to carve that slitch into bite sized pieces and fed her to the betraying bastard of a Johnson. Too bad he got away. Oh well, another name for The List, I guess. At least we got paid.

I enter my access code for the elevator while thinking longingly of the shower in my near future. As the door open, I remember that Enid is hiding at my place from her ex. With a sigh, I prepare to face the inevitable slew of questions and concern, but when I enter the apartment, she is gone. I hope she didn’t go home, or worse, back to the abusive fuck. I make a mental note to check on her in the morning.

After a long shower, I collapse into bed, exhausted. Sleep is elusive. I toss and turn while the long list of people who need to face justice replays over and over in my mind like a broken AR feed. I close my eyes. As Enid taught me, I begin to breathe. I slowly inhale five slow beats. Pause five beats. Exhale five slow beats. I begin to build an image of the first name of The List. I picture his short graying hair, the hard gray eyes, the chiseled jaw, and the sly mouth always twisted in disgust when he looked at me. The large frame covered in the dark gray suit. I can almost smell the bourbon. For a moment, I relive the terror and feel as helpless as I once was and then I lovingly and carefully start picturing my justice. I envision how I am going to bring him to tears. I can smell the tang of blood, hear the screams and pleas for mercy and forgiveness, but my justice is relentless and inexorable. When it’s finished, I allow myself one small smile before I move onto the next name on the list. When sleep finally overtakes me, my face is a mask of contentment and peace…


That’s the flavor I’m talking about…Nice

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold

Flit might be distantly related to Arya Stark. Nice writing, Jeff!

Revenge is a Dish Best Served Cold
quanhill pdxWednesday

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