Revenge
By Caitlin Titmus
I sit back on my haunches, observing my work with a small smile on my face. Lowering my arms and making sure everything was in place for him to see my master piece I turn and walk to the bedroom door. I look back and admire the view of his younger sister hanging limply from the ceiling, spread like Jesus was on the cross, blood dripping lazily down her arms and feet from the open wounds in her wrists and ankles.
Some people would call this psychotic, I call it justice. If he thinks I will tolerate that kind of behaviour from someone of his position he is deeply mistaken and he must pay with the blood of his loved ones.
I scratch at the healing wound on my stomach and a sudden wave of sickness overcomes me, I let the child best me. Cleaning the knife I used to disembowel her on my jeans I blow out the candle on the bedside table and shut his door.
I walk out of his house smiling and whistling an old tune my mother used to sing. This should teach that little cunt not to mess with me. Revenge is sweet.