A tale of Revenge | Teen Ink

A tale of Revenge

March 1, 2013
By bernadethr BRONZE, Seattle, Washington
bernadethr BRONZE, Seattle, Washington
4 articles 0 photos 1 comment

Favorite Quote:
"caras vemos corazones no sabemos"
~faces we see, hearts we don't know.


The beginning,
They say that revenge consist of massive destruction
Cause by intense sneaky physical actions.
But to cause pain without leaving a chase
You have to start a colorful mind game.
Use your smile and nonchalant attitude as your shield
to make sure your true pain is never reviled.
Do this and you will always find,
That instead of ripping you into shreds,
your enemy will find a way to resign.
And here starts the tale of revenge
That begins with fireworks in celebration of a new revolution
The spark began to dance when the match kissed the beginning
And left nothing but the standing ashes of a string
I looked up to the sky as soon I heard the big boom,
But I saw nothing.
Instead I felt heat on my cheek rising up to the corner of my eye.
I couldn’t tell if there was silence or my ears had just disappeared
And soon I found myself looking up to the devil smiling at me in a white room.
“Sorry. It was an accident.” The devil told me as he grinned waiting for a tear.
But I just smiled and closed my eyes,
Until I felt frozen hands grab my shoulders and shook me,
Every heavy word ever thought of was said
Defenseless I did the best I could and stayed silent.
And that seemed to weaken him, as he began to runaway.
After that night I couldn’t feel any more pain.
I was still in the same room but,
I saw myself as if I was watching a rerun again.
There were people around me with soggy eyes,
As the doctor declared it to be natural.
I didn’t see the devil.
After a few exchanges with the sun and the moon,
I found myself in a lovely stained casket,
But still no devil.
He only showed up when I was hidden in the soil,
And the only marker of me was a grey engraved rock,
That to him it was a wanted sign.
Every time he read my name, and the years lived.
I come alive again,
While a little piece of him dies.
And the guilt that brings him here every Sunday,
Will never reach,
The end.



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