Revenge

This piece has a particularly humorous story behind it, for it was supposed to be my vignette, but I misunderstood the directions that "it must be from your own life." Therefore, I freaked out that my teacher would think I was some sort of axe murder—which I am certainly not. I later wrote a different vignette—not nearly as exciting in my humble opinion, which is called "Sales. . . Not My Calling." So, enjoy and remember, THIS IS NOT A TRUE STORY!

     My hands felt heavy as steel as I dragged the axe behind me, heading towards the neighbors house. He would never see me coming. I’d sneak into his home while he slumbered, vulnerable to the ferocity of my revenge. “You slept with my wife and now you will pay the price, you bastard,” I repeated to myself under my breath as if it were some sacred mantra.

      I trudged. . .closer and closer. He would never see me coming. I could feel the crimson curtain of rashness close in upon my reason.

      Four years of my life he had looked in me right in the eye as if we were true pals. Ha, what a fool I was to fall victim to his deceptive lies.

      My wife, oh, Daisy, her foolish little head could not help herself. Daisy, so innocent and pure, would never betray me. It was that brute’s damn charm. He lures them toward him with his dark looks and brooding demeanor; all the while, he is anticipating that next day when he can look his “pal” in the eye as if he hadn’t just violated the holy unity of matrimony.

      He thinks he is so clever, but he is foolish to think that I wouldn’t catch on. He will never see me coming. His house looms before me in the dead of night. No movement, the air is still and humid. I can feel the axe slipping from my grip.

      I reach his threshold and my axe scrapes across the floor. The hallway is narrow. The walls seem to close in on me. They’re pushing against me— suffocating me.

      I see him there, sleeping spread eagle across his mattress. He will never see me coming. “For Daisy,” I whisper.

     I raise the axe above my head. . .

Butterscotch

Not to sound cheesy, but I loved my love poem unconditionally when I wrote it, but at second glance a week later, I saw some room for improvement. I decided to reword a few lines and use some different diction, but aside from that I am now more in love with it. Descriptive writing is one of my many passions; in my humble opinion, the more dramatic, the better.This poem is for all the people who cannot bear the thought of losing a friend by making things complicated with a relationship. It’s for the heartsick teenagers that feel as if no one understands.

Eyes as warm as butterscotch

You sparkle across my sky

Your beauty is unparallelled

Inside and out

You are the sun in my desolate tundra

And the supple sand trickling through my toes

My darling, you are my everything

I treasure my stolen glances of you

Tucked away in the deep cavities of my heart

Which truly belongs only to you

Effortless charm drips from your lips

Like rich honeysuckle smoldering with forbidden nectar

Teasing crooked smiles

Leave the girls fawning for miles

But only I can see past those seductive lashes

Secrets lie just below that smirk

Secrets only revealed to me

But you may never know the feelings of mine that are true

For I fear the feeling is not mutual

And I am only a friend to you

So I remain silent

Sheltered by my bubble of unknown