Fortnightly Writing Comp- "Vengeance" Winner Declared

[Oddysseus]

That jerk at work made you look the fool... your girlfriend left you for your best friend... your fellow scientists called you mad for your inventions (and all in the same week!)

Well, they're going to regret it, because this competition's theme is vengeance.
Write a story/poem/play/rap about you getting revenge against someone that did you wrong.

No restrictions.

(if there is a tie, I will cast the tie-breaking vote).

Write like the wind!

[Creed Malay]

"The Best Revenge Is A Live Well Lived"
is what it said on his gravestone.
I pissed on it anyway.

[Oliwerko]

Believe it or not, this is based on a true story. I just gave it a richer background and altered it a bit to make it more exciting to read... Have fun!

Reckless

Back at high school, we had this teacher who just ignored everything but herself. She didn’t accept anyone not having their day, being distracted or tired, or even sick. “That’s not my problem.” â€" she used to say.

And indeed, she stood behind her words. She didn’t allow anyone to go to the toilet â€" we should have dealt with it during the break. But there was a catch there too. She always finished the class late, the reason being “our pointless time-wasting requests”, for which she apparently had to make up during the break. It was absolutely normal for people, struggling to stay awake in their sickness, to be forced to finish the class. It was cruel, nothing less.

To cut the long story short, she was absolutely reckless towards everyone.

We kind of got used to it, but still hated her. We hated her for a reason and felt aggrieved. I dreamt of one day when this would all return to her. It was a sweet image at least.

I wouldn’t think that this day would actually come, and that I would be the executor of this evil revenge. But I really was.

It was a cold November Wednesday and I had some stomach troubles since the morning. Nothing serious though, just a mild swell. But it got worse throughout the day, and the worst part came just during her class.

I felt like vomiting, my stomach was aching and the pain became unsustainable. “Whatever.” I said to myself and raised my hand. I had kept it raised despite being ignored for at least five minutes. I had seen she was enjoying the whole thing. She loved the feeling of power she had over me, the defenseless pupil of hers.

I felt horrible. I almost burst to tears when she finally asked me ‘what the hell I want’. I told her that I’m sick and I need to go to the toilet. Just as I expected, the traditional response followed and I was spurned even for asking, because ‘I should have known that already’.

I just couldn’t manage to stay at my desk, I felt like my stomach is going to fail me each minute. I stood up and crawled to her desk. Everyone was quiet and wondering what kind of punishment I’m going to get for something like this.

I came to her desk, and despite the violent look on her face, I tried to tell her that I really MUST go to the toilet, because I’m going to vomit.

Little did I know that it was too late already.

Sooner than I could finish the sentence, my stomach couldn’t take it anymore. With a glorious splash, at least two pounds of fresh vomit hit the teacher with the speed of light.

Repeatedly.

When I was finished, I couldn’t believe what just happened. She had liquidified pieces of my half-digested morning meal all over her body. This liquid mess was slowly pouring down to her dress and when I looked down, I saw she had her shoes full of it as well. It was an overkill, I can tell you.

I was shocked. But when I realized that she actually caused this herself and I couldn’t be blamed for it, I burst into an uncontrollable evil laugh.

For a while no one could do anything but stare astonishingly. She just sat there in the puddle, vomit hitting the floor and I was laughing like hell into her eyes.

Soon enough, the whole class followed me. We just couldn’t stop. It was too sweet to believe. The day when her refusals really turned against her finally came.

I felt awful, but it was worth it. I was incredibly lucky to execute this myself. The look on her face can’t be forgotten.

We had our vengeance, and that’s what all of us had been waiting for anyway.

[kconan]

  The Doctor lied...If he would have just been honest, I wouldn't have purchased cleaning products from grocery stores in various towns, 2 MCU-2/P gas masks from a military surplus outlet, and an old .45 handgun with a flashlight attachment from a shady guy - who advised that I should scratch off the serial number.

  Why lead a patient to believe they have a chance?  I ponder this as I make the long drive to his house in a rattle-trap beater that I bought for 400 bucks at a junk-yard.  Judging by the giant rusting beetle on the roof, I safely guess that the car once belonged to a pest exterminator company.  Nazareth's "Hair of the Dog" playing on the radio further adds to the irony, which results in my first fit of chuckles since she died.

  The cruelest thing was giving her false hope.  I mull this over as I pull off the road near his house.  Revenge can be even more cruel, especially if his wife and kid aren't visiting relatives as planned.  My world is no longer black and white.  She was the best thing that ever happened to me; only my love was truly "innocent".

  Whatever happened to the Hippocratic oath?  This question lingers in my head as I notice that his place is unimpressive and rather small for a big-shot doctor.  The yard, while comfortably large, is in bad condition and needs landscaping.  I had studied photos of the house and surrounding area, but it didn't prepare me for how underwhelming it is in person.

  The Doctor enjoys experimenting in the name of science, well I'll give him an experiment in the name of vengeance.  This bad tagline from a straight-to-video action movie runs through my head as I crawl in the foyer window and stealthily make my way to the master bedroom, which as research indicates, has only one exit.

  "Treatment" and "trial" are two very different ideas with different objectives.  I contemplate this while the Doctor sleeps peacefully, and scan his room for any potential weapons, unplug the landline phone, and take his cell phone from the nightstand.  I carefully don the gas mask, and quickly dump the contents of the ammonia and bleach bottles all over the bedroom floor.  I walk over to the door to obstruct it, and wait for his rude awakening with the .45 at the ready.

  The Doctor shoots up coughing phlegm.  "Why did you give her a placebo?" is the first question out of my mouth in attempts to get to the point.  The doctor, between gags and glances at my flashlight, replies, "You?!  What...Why?  She agreed to take part in the Morbi-Rid clinical trial...I'm sorry for the outcome...COUGH...I'm sure she knew...COUGH...associated risks."

  "An agnozing death was the "outcome" you liar!  You billed Morbi-Rid as a miracle "treatment" to her rather than a "trial".  And not coincidentally, you owned a large amount of stock in the pharmaceutical company that produced it.  You needed unwitting lab rats to get your drug government approved.  Basically, you made the love of my life a guinea pig!"

  While gasping for air and tearing at his eyes, the Doctor manages, "Yes, well it was a...COUGH...blind trial with a control group.  What did you expect me to...COUGH COUGH...tell her?"

  "The truth!  She went to you for medical help, and not to be the control group of an experiment!  Morbi-Rid works, but you didn't even give it to her!  Tell me how you got her to sign the release and admit that you gave her a placebo!  In return, you will get this brand new gas mask."  I produced the spare gas mask.

  The air is thick with deadly chlorine gas from the bleach and ammonia mixture.  The Doctor blindly stumbles toward me with both arms flailing in a last ditch effort to make an escape, or perhaps in the hopes he can somehow get ahold of the spare mask.  He is sent sprawling with a front kick to the chest, and now my gun is trained on him center-mass.

  Starting to foam at the mouth, the Doctor pleads, "Ok!  Ok...We needed participants for the Morbi-Rid study...COUGH...COUGH...UGH...and no one with your wife's disease would knowingly, or willingly, be a part of the control group and, well, take a COUGH...placebo.  My God man...I can't see or even breathe!  Give me the mask!"

  The Doctor vomits, and with pleading, red eyes pathetically looks up at me.  I sigh and ask, "And the paperwork she signed?"

  While coughing spittle and convulsing, the Doctor wheezes, "She signed without reading...COUGH...UGH...it stated she agreed to...COUGH...an experiment...ok, yes, we should have been more up front...COUGH...subjects."

  The Doctor's eyes are squinted shut, and bile streams out of his nose.  Somehow amidst the projectile frothing he begs, "Hurry...COUGH...going blind and...respiratory system is undergoing class II hemorrhaging."  I see why this nasty concoction was once used in warfare.

  I continue to block the doorway, and toss him the spare gas mask.  The Doctor quickly straps it on and protests, "How could you?!  I have a family and...COUGH COUGH...Hey!   There is no filter in this gas mask!!"

  I relay the bad news to him through a maniacal grin: "Yea, it's a placebo."

[Atelier]

Inmate

He arrived at the prison,
Hounded by press.
Bundled in a police van.

When he was given clothes,
He turned them down.

"I will not
need those."

When he was given a bed,
He turned it down.

"I'll sleep on the
Stone floor."

When it was lunchtime,
He sat alone.

Where only
rapists
murderers
and paedos do go.

Jeering, thugs with
Thick bruised and broken necks;
Calling from the catwalks.

Reminding him of the crime.

[Oddysseus]

Here I was, worried that I'd missed declaring a winner because of my illness, only to discover that not a single vote has been cast.

And for such unexpectedly thrilling and brutal entries! What do you want, an engraved invitation? Vote, somebody!

[kconan]

Oliwerko

[Oliwerko]

Creed, for the wonderful simplicity.

[Tabata]

I liked all the storys, but the one from kconan has really fascinated me.
So I'd like to vote for kconan.

[Big GC]

I liked all the storys, but the one from kconan has really fascinated me.
So I'd like to vote for kconan.

+1

[Oddysseus]

Alright, I think it's time to wrap this up.

Two votes for kconan, and one each for Creed and Oliwerko.

The internet has spoken: kconan is the victor. And a well-deserved win despite stiff competition, I'd say. Mustard gas is a more brutal vengeance than even I anticipated. And I especially enjoyed the final line.

Kconan, the curse honor of hosting the next competition is yours!

[Oliwerko]

Congrats, kconan! This was a really nice one 

[kconan]

  Cool!  That was fun.  Give me a few days to mull over an idea and I'll post up a new competition.