The Stream of Vengeance | Abhilasha Sharma

 


The Stream of Vengeance

By Abhilasha Sharma

THE DON McCRADY INVITATIONAL AWARD 


We agreed that revenge was the only way forward. After all, I had washed cars in the country club for two weeks to be able to get Alice a rose bouquet and dinner at Enzo’s. And except for forgetting her birthday and killing her cat, I thought things were going well.

How was I to know that the tuna I’d fed to Tabby, Alice’s Persian, had gone bad? When Tabby made funny noises post meal, I thought she wanted to play. So, I took her to the park. She could really use some exercise. She rolled around for a while and then lay still. Taking it to be the cheekiest display of laziness, I was poking her with a stick when Alice caught me. She broke off with me right there in the park with no regards for the dead.

A week later, me and my mates saw her doing the Friday night boogie with her new boyfriend.

Naturally, we drank beer all through Saturday and late evening we broke into her backyard with a well-hatched plan. An unexpected sunset provided us cover. I located her room from memory—luckily, it was dark inside. I climbed the wisteria-vine snaking the window. My eyes struggled to adjust to darkness, but I snuck inside her room, leaped on the bed, and let it whizz. Loosening my hips, I zig-zagged from her hammer shaped oak headboard to footstool, releasing all twelve pints of vengeance.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” said a voice behind me.

“Payback, Alice,” I said before hopping down and coming face-to-face with my mother’s book club. They held copies of a book titled ‘Exploring Sacred Night.’

My mother threw a laser-beam stare and snarled, “Alice lives in next lane.”

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