Revenge
It’s just a quick short I wrote for a task [8] I had to do during the half term break for college. As it turned out I didn’t do it during the week long break and wrote it about an hour ago, having returned to college today.
I am very much an “at the last moment” person, or worse “post-apocalypse bloomer”.
I wrote it for the assignment but have now decided to explore this small event. This piece is now an extract from the full short story I am working on, it is called The Death of Jasef.
Revenge belongs to the following groups:
Masterpieces: Literary Workshop, Practising the Dark Arts and WMG... The argument continued. Jasef thought to himself as the two lovers traded barbs, “If only one would apologise or admit to being wrong we could all get back to cooking dinner,”. The beautiful Gretyl seethed as she formed a quick retort to Hansel’s jab at her flustered cheeks that were glowing as red as the flames that licked beneath the scolding cauldron. She was firm in her belief that they should serve dinner on the good plates; and as if the firmament up high had called a committee to grant her the perfect response an extraordinary comeback, to parallel Hansel and his condescension towards her rosy cheeks, formed behind her wrinkled forehead, “Why Hansel, to think my cheeks should bother you so; to think any blemish on my symmetric face or body should matter. We both, no, we all know you love me for my name alone! Why, your obsession with your long-dead sister is beyond reason. Why, it very nearly borders the line of necrophyllic-incestry! If only I was as cold and blue as she was when you last saw her,” and with a gasp Gretyl took her breath, leaning forwards to let the air reach the depths of her now exhausted lungs. Hansel stood stupefied, his eyes starring dazedly towards Gretyl.
In the corner of the room the cauldron released a large fluorescent purple and red bubble, that scintillated brightly in the gloom of the dusty gingerbread cottage, floating into the air. Jasef, sitting idly by the cauldron, on a stool, in a lacklustre attempt at sentry duty, noticed the free-rising bubble and quickly produced a sharp knife from his pocket; with a quick poke the bubble was burst and a thick cloud of fog, roughly the same colour but by no means as brilliant as the bubble, dissipated through the window above the cauldron. Jasef, now shovelling spoon-full after spoon-full of the thick liquid into deep bowls, spoke directly to the dazzled Hansel, “friend, Hansel, dinner is ready. Congratulate Gretyl on the brilliance of her counter and we can feast,”. A creep’s grin stretched across Hansel’s dark and rugged face, “Gretyl my dear, you are pure brilliance incarnate. I can guarantee you a place by my side and in my bed for as long as you want the coins I leave between your thighs. And so you know: it is not only your name that succours me to the climatic end of our morning, afternoon and evening trysts. It is as much that perfectly flawed face, blemish or none, that keeps me entranced by you at night and between my thoughts. Though may I suggest you learn some skill between the sheets; your face transcends but your skill is eclipsed by that same now dead namesake you think I am so obsessed with. Now to dinner! I am starved by our games,”
And the trio, Gretyl left with an odd look perched upon her lips and eyes, Hansel smiling inwards and arrogantly, and Jasef busying himself with spoons, sat around a large dusty wooden table with Goblets of wine and bowls, full of a thick, viscous purple soup, spread out where each sat. Jasef, sitting closest to the pot, ready to serve any seconds should they be requested, glanced around the room and spoke aloud to it and its occupants, “So, my friends, what shall we call this meal? With all the joy in its colouring and splendour in its taste, it most surely needs a special one,”. Hansel, having spooned himself a mouthful, mulled over the taste of the soup, or muck, then spoke like Jasef to the room and its occupants, “Well Jasef, I would find it most humorous if we were to call it ‘Revenge’, and may we enjoy it again before long,” and with the end of his joke he bellowed a loud chesty laugh. Gretyl just rolled her eyes, “do they licence that kind of humour or did you steal it from a demented cook?”
“My dear you must achieve this humour! Now eat your meal and be thankful that it is true they melt on contact with water…” …
Gordon Merrick...
I Love You More Than Words