October 2022 Writing Challenge: Revenge

Question

As decided by vote, here's the next challenge, proposed by towr:

Is a life lived well the best revenge? Is it a dish best served cold? Is it the petard you hoist yourself by?*

Write a scene about revenge.

* sorry

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Answer 1

Tess absentmindedly twirled Amy's hair around her finger as they lay snuggling in bed in the warm afterglow of passion. She was mulling over the evening, and their future together.

She'd proposed to Amy, finally. And Amy had accepted. They'd been out celebrating with friends for most of the evening, before continuing their more private celebrations into the night.

"I wish I could have introduced you to my parents" said Tess. "They would have loved you as their daughter-in-law." But her parents had been killed 5 years ago, victims of a rival family.

Tess felt Amy tense up a moment.

She continued, "Maybe we can get married in the church at the cemetery where they're buried. That way they can be with us on our wedding day."

Amy curled up and started sniffling.

Tess pulled her closer and kissed the top of her head. "Hey. What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry," said Amy. She started to sob. "I'm so sorry."

"About what?"

"I'd never have taken the job if I'd known I'd meet you. I swear!"

"What do you mean?" It pained Tess to see the misery on Amy's face as she struggled to confess.

"It was me, 5 years ago. I'm the one that killed your parents. I was the assassin that ..."

Tess put her hand on Amy's cheek and wiped away a tear with her thumb. "I know." She sounded calm.

"What?" Amy looked up at her in disbelief, confusion and fear playing across her face.

"I've known that longer than I've known you. We didn't meet by chance."

Now it was Tess's time to confess. "When my parents died, I swore to get revenge. It wasn't that hard to find out who ordered it, and who did it. I tracked down where they were, what they liked, everything I could find. When we met, my plan was simply to make you suffer for what you did. Maybe seduce you, and really rub it in."

Tears welled up in Amy's eyes. Tess could see the terror in her eyes that everything had been a lie. Her eyes teared up in sympathy.

"But that changed.

When I finally told you my last name —" Tess smiled wryly. "Oh, the look on your face when you realized. You hid it so poorly. The shock, the guilt. It was ... beautiful. And heartbreaking.

I think that was the moment I truly fell in love with you. And that I realized that loving you was the best revenge."

She kissed Amy. And held her, and comforted her, and cried with her.

Answer 2

Liam was out as a danger, thought Kevin. Ewan might still be the one to find the apple, but Liam was a fool to biddably go off into the wild woods, when looking for a fruit that grew in orchards.

But he had chosen the better route. Ewan had not realized that this land was the one famed for its apples. Where better to find a magical, golden one than in it? His horse loped along the road, hemmed in by hedges of wild roses. Thousands of flowers abloom and scenting the air, as if escort the hero to his prize.

He came about a bend, and his horse shied, nearly sending him into the roses, with all their thorns. After a moment's struggle, he mastered it, and saw the cause: a little, brownish man, standing by the hedge, as if for the world he had the right to obstruct the way, looking up at him with dark eyes, his mouth set in wry lines as if he judged him.

"What the devil are you doing, you fool?"

"Why, wondering what you are about, young prince?"

"About business of my own, you knave!" He slapped his heels to his horse's side, and charged onward. The mannikin did not dodge, or get knocked aside, and when he glanced over his shoulder, he saw no more sign of him. Would serve him right if he died in a ditch. . . .

A branch scratched his cheek. Kevin jerked his head away, and found leaves brushing him from the other side. He pulled up his horse, but a leaf already brushed his leg from the other side. His horse had charged into a narrow lane, so narrow that he could not turn his horse. And as he looked ahead, he saw branches growing over the way.

He looked back. The branches were already stretching, catching him in here as if he had been fool enough to try to wake a sleeping princess.

"That thrice-accurst dwarf! Hanging about like a beggar when he was a wizard!"

Answer 3

My breath hitches as Asp's eyes flicker to my hiding spot. "Come out come out little warrior." He croons. Rage flares in me, hot and bright. He lost the right to call me that long ago. Lost it when his knife brought down Ashynn. Ashynn, who was trying to protect me. Ashynn the Assassin Queen. I've waited for the day I could finally kill him for almost half a year, but now that the time has come, my hands tremble. I'm not afraid. I'm not afraid. I ball my hands into fists. I'M NOT AFRAID. "Are you afraid?" Asp purrs, his cool voice mocking my thoughts. He strides across the clearing, each step bringing him closer to where I crouch, hunched in the y between branches cloaked, or so I thought by the summer green leaves. Asp knows where I am though. Of course he does. Because why would I ever have the advantage? That would be much too nice. This piece-of-shit world had never given me the advantage. Narrowing my eyes, I focus on his mop of dirty blonde hair as I tense my legs, ready to leap. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." He smirks. "I could easily throw you off, severely injuring you if I wanted, or dodge your jump." I snarl in frustration and his grin grows as he grabs one of the lower branches and swings himself into the tree. I look down at him climbing steadily up behind me, fear rimming my eyes. I scramble higher up into the tree, glancing over the edge, considering the fall. He chuckles. "You haven't changed at all. Still the useless rookie you were when Ashynn saved your trembling good-for-nothing skin. No wonder she died." I let the tears come, coursing down my dirt-streaked face. I turn away, pretending to hide my face, embarrassed. The only thing I'm hiding is my hand as it grasps the handle of the dagger hidden in my jacket. It was so easy to play the role of a rookie fighter, so easy to fool him into thinking I didn't change in the months since he last fought me. I don't envy his confidence. It just got him killed. I whirl on my branch, flicking my wrist, letting the dagger soar. His eyes bloom with surprise as he tries to dodge. But the branch on his left prevents that. The dagger embeds in his chest, and his gasp echoes in my head as he falls backward out of the tree, and lands with a muffled thump on the forest floor below. I leap lightly from my perch in the tree, landing next to his broken body, his face frozen in shock forever. All the theatrics? Those were to convince him that I was still the little warrior I was when he knew me. Life has never given me the advantage. I had to take it for myself. And I'd say I did a hell of a good job of it.