All Nonfiction Bullying Books Academic Author Interviews Celebrity interviews College Articles College Essays Educator of the Year Heroes Interviews Memoir Personal Experience Sports Travel & CultureAll Opinions Bullying Current Events / Politics Discrimination Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking Entertainment / Celebrities Environment Love / Relationships Movies / Music / TV Pop Culture / Trends School / College Social Issues / Civics Spirituality / Religion Sports / Hobbies
- Summer Guide
- College Guide
- Author Interviews
- Celebrity interviews
- College Articles
- College Essays
- Educator of the Year
- Personal Experience
- Travel & Culture
- Current Events / Politics
- Drugs / Alcohol / Smoking
- Entertainment / Celebrities
- Love / Relationships
- Movies / Music / TV
- Pop Culture / Trends
- School / College
- Social Issues / Civics
- Spirituality / Religion
- Sports / Hobbies
- Community Service
- Letters to the Editor
- Pride & Prejudice
- What Matters
Revenge is a troubling, confusing thing, and I, a lonely soul, find it upsetting to gather the wit, will, and wisdom to put into words the agony of my vengeful goings. However, I will muster pertinacity and explain to you the story of how I end up in my present whereabouts. --Revenge, the sick evil that is the result of broken love, liberty, or life, is not a simple creature. It writhes against the chains of self-control that we struggle to place, flinches at the touch, and tricks a poor person just when they thought they got it figured out. A quick, nimble creature, Revenge is hard to grasp onto but once you latch on, there is no turning back. --And now, I show you my journey with Revenge, Love, Loyalty, and Insanity, a jungle of creatures that have taken over my life.
The life that is mine was beautiful at first. My husband, Charles, and I were the happiest that a happy couple could be. His hand within mine, souls intertwined. Our jubilant lives were rejuvenated with the blessing of our beautiful son, Nathaniel. The day of his birth, my beloved held me and Nathaniel in his arms, whispering (for Eve is my name), “Love always, Eve. Love always. Love always.”
Those words have haunted me forevermore.
The day after the birthing of Nathaniel, a tragedy struck upon our newly made, enthralled family. The notorious Karlos, while I was outside rocking my child, came upon our dwelling secretly and threw his wretched knife into the heart of my lover, my husband, my spouse forever. Karlos—he is famous not only for his numerous murders and way of never getting caught, but for his huge, bumpy scar on that evil forehead. And when he threw that knife into his heart, it pierced the soul that I call my own. So ever since that fateful morn when my lover was killed and I was left alone with the baby that was now only mine, I have lived with a pierced soul.
I shudder; I redden to recall this detail of my story, but as you know, it must be told—in those first few days, I thought that the birth of my little boy was related to the death of my marvelous husband. But these thoughts I have never spoken aloud, nor taken seriously. Why this? This is because I will forever remember: “Love always. Love always. Love always.”
Enough with the light-heartedness. Off to reality—my story is not so simple as it may seem. The night after my husband was murdered by the famous, criminal, scarred Karlos, (his cursed scar was raised, bumpy, and the shape of a strange line) I knelt at my bedside and made a faithful vow to find and kill Karlos in revenge for how he ruined my chipper life.
And my son grew, and grew, and as his age increased, as did his facial definition! And oh! what definition it was. My beautiful, saintly, kind, mannered son had all the likenesses of the terrible, merciless, and wicked Karlos! All except, and I remember thanking the Lord for this, all except that scar. Nathaniel’s forehead was as bare as a forgotten painting canvas, a lone piece of paper. And blessedly so. Every night, I sneak with such discretion into my darling child’s chambers and feel his sacredly smooth forehead—no scar in sight.
You remember, however, that I made a vow to find and kill the assassinator of my soul mate. So intense was this oath, so deep was my promise, that my mind started to deteriorate with all of the thinking I did in the manner of Karlos. I started imagining things—believing that I heard my husband’s voice behind me, seeing the image of Charles rocking Nathaniel, but most of all hearing constantly, “Love always, Eve. Love always. Love always.” And as time went on, just like it does during an ordinary life, I starting seeing something that scared me to no end. The scar, that fateful jagged line that blends so cruelly onto Karlos' cursed skin--I started seeing it on the head of Nathaniel! And oh, what misery this brought me. Each time I saw my son, now a young adult, I had to feel his forehead to keep me from going through with my oath and to remind me that he was not Karlos but was indeed my offspring. Of course, I asked my child if he saw the scar appearing on his head, but alas, he saw nothing, and his face was as smooth as any other day. I continued my nightly routine of feeling Nathaniel’s forehead and was sometimes at ease.
I was forever tense, though, when I started seeing the hallucination of the scar there every minute of every day. I constantly was feeling my poor child's head in a desperate attempt to control myself. Now an adult and about to go off to University, Nathaniel was looking like the malevolent Karlos more and more every day. Even so, every day I searched and strived to find, punish, and get revenge from him, and the scar became a permanent vision on the forehead of my Nathaniel.
Finally, I was able to rest—my son left for University and I was able to focus in on my search for the root of evil—the killer Karlos. More and more, I could feel my mind deteriorating--I incessantly heard, “Love always, Eve. Love always. Love always.” I received no break, no break, no relief from those haunting, lingering words. And so, my days were filled with some ease from the relief of my son, but little relaxation. “Love always. Love always.”
One fine spring day like any other, my ears were ringing more than usual with that phrase—my dead husband’s voice filled my mind like water fills a drowning man’s lungs. I could barely hear the knock on the door over the deep, husky voice of my deceased. Startled, I cautiously pushed the door ajar and saw no one but Karlos! The killer of my husband as well as of my happy life! The very man who I was plotting to find and kill every moment of every day! The wretched assassin who had caused this evil deterioration of my once beautiful mind! So I showed no caution—I dared not slow down whilst I dragged the man, scar resting on his sinful forehead, and threw him to the floor. I picked up a framed photograph of my beloved Charles and smacked it against his head, which was no doubt filled with evil ideas. He blessedly fell to the floor, eyes shut, unconscious. I then took the now shattered glass and plunged it into the spot where the scar lay! As soon as the deed was done, the scar supernaturally disappeared from sight.
It was then, and only then, when I realized the thing I had done! The man who I had so fashionably murdered was not Karlos but my dearest son Nathaniel! Overcome with guilt, I fled my home—the place of the death of not only my son but also my husband. I ran as fast as my legs could take me, hearing those words being chanted in my brain: “Love always, Eve. Love always.”
I kept sprinting, sobbing, ridden with grief, and I ended up miles away from my chambers. It was then, and only then, when I say none other than the wicked Karlos. The scar was there, as thick and jagged as ever. I reached up to feel his forehead with a shaky hand—sure enough, the disgusting mark was reality. The last thing I heard was, “Love always, Eve. Love always. Love always.” I was not sure whether the words were formed from my own mind or from the twisted mouth of Karlos. I blacked out, not sure if I would ever awaken.
Alas, I am here to tell the story, am I not? The place where I reside currently, where I am telling my somber tale from, has escaped from my knowledge. I know not where I am, or where I will be. I feel my time is coming to a close—my days, which blend together here, are numbered. I felt the need to tell my story to someone; I hope wherever you are, whoever you are, you understand my plight. Show compassion to a poor old woman whose family has been ripped apart. Shattered—like the glass that I used to murder my son. Shattered—like my life.