Tag Archives: revenge

1734. A misplaced apostrophe

(The other day someone pointed out that I had a misplaced apostrophe. This story is to express my gratitude.)

A change is as good as a holiday said Arnie. He was a hitman and was sick to death of poisoning people. This new assignment should provide a bit of variety. Not that he wasn’t good at poisoning; it was his speciality. It was why he received most of his jobs. He had a reputation for poisoning.

But this new assignment not only paid well, but provided a welcome change.

Extremely rich parents of a spoilt teen – in this case a boy – had sent him to an exclusive private school. The boy – whose name was Constantine – was a star sportsman. He was the brightest baseball hope the school had had in years. He was headed for professionalism and the Baseball Hall of Fame. How proud could parents be?

The trouble was that Constantine’s English teacher was a crabby old bag. She was a stickler for correct punctuation no matter what. Misplaced apostrophes were her greatest hate. The over use of the exclamation mark was another error to be condemned. (Not that Constantine, being a sportsman, bothered to use the exclamation mark!) A dash was not a comma; a semicolon was not the same as a colon. Constantine would mess up his punctuation just to annoy the living daylights out of her. It worked too well.

When Constantine was due to attend a Baseball Summer Camp, Ms Virginia Funk – for that was the teacher’s name – wrote to the Summer Camp and said, “Constantine’s outstanding contribution to schoolboy baseball is in inverse proportion to his application to his studies. I would recommend he not be accepted into the Summer Baseball Camp.”

The Baseball Summer Camp, having too many applicants, denied Constantine’s application. And that is why Arnie was hired as a hitman. Ms Virginia Funk was dead meat. She would have no reason to prepare classes for the following academic year. Arnie’s problem was that – Ms Virginia Funk being an English teacher – he wanted to get rid of her in creative a fashion as possible; for variety is the spice of life.

First, he would make her stew a bit. He sent her a handwritten note that said “Its you’re last day.” Virginia was outraged. There should be an apostrophe in “It’s”, she declared. That’s when Arnie saw red. His creativity could wait for another day. He took his bag of poisonous chemicals, knocked on her door, changed his mind, and shot her point blank.

He was well paid. And although some might think that Constantine’s parents and Arnie were a bit over the top, at least Ms Virginia Funk didn’t suffer needlessly.

1657. The man-eater

(Thanks to Uma for the opening sentence).

In his dream he was a man-eater, hungry and dying. He was a tiger in the Indian state of Maharashtra. Already he had killed and eaten fourteen humans. Now he was ready for another. But he was sick. He had drunk salty water and this had made him violent and unpredictable.

He went on an all-day killing spree. He gave no care for his safety. He slaughtered fourteen children coming home from school. Eight adults were dead. He would eat one, he didn’t care which, for his meal. Humans were cruel animals. He could be crueller.

Life was hard. In the beginning he had hunted with his mother. She was a master man-eater. Then she was shot by humans coming from the village. Her son took on a life of revenge. It wasn’t simply food; it was a game. It was an all-consuming desire. Humans hunted animals for pleasure. Why couldn’t he hunt humans for the same gratification?

He stirred in his afternoon snooze. It was so boring being gawked at every day through metal bars by countless humans at the zoo.

1470. Revenge of the mint

Harvey grew mint in an attractive pot on his garden path. We all know how mint can spread and take over an entire garden. It is best that it be contained. Harvey liked to have mint. It made a refreshing tea on a hot summer’s day. He liked to boil his potatoes and peas with a sprig of mint. And he loved mint sauce with roast lamb.

It was early spring, and Harvey knew that if he cut the mint back, it would flourish so much thicker and vigorous in the pot. He cut it back almost to the level of the soil.

Later he noticed that he could smell the mint, presumably on his hands. But then, even after he’d had a shower, he could still smell mint. The smell became stronger and stronger. It would not go away. It began to affect his taste buds. If he ate an orange it would be like chewing mint. Corned beef tasted like mint. Everything tasted of mint. He could smell and taste mint everywhere and all the time, and could smell and taste nothing else.

And then Harvey began to see green. Everything was turning green. Walls were green, windows we green, drapes were green, his car, his concrete steps. He used to think that mint green was a lovely colour. Not anymore.

Harvey was starting to go crazy. He’d had enough of mint. He picked up his potted mint and smashed the container onto his concrete path. It broke into a thousand bits. The container, soil and dirt lay an eyesore on his garden path. Harvey vehemently kicked everything into the garden.

The mint was free at last. It was what it had wanted all along. It could spread throughout the garden. And Harvey could see, taste, and smell once again as normal.

Poem 19: Fall fire

(By way of explanation: I have decided to post on the first of each month a poem in a specific form. Throughout that month, if further poems are created and posted, they will all use that form. The poetic form chosen for March 2016 is the Sextilla. The Sextilla is a poem with stanzas of six lines, usually each line being 8 syllables. It rhymes aabccb or ababcc.)

19fire

There’s not too much that’s left to say
About this golden autumn day.
The fallen leaves that fell last year
Have rotted now and turned to mush.
The trees again grew green and lush
But now stand naked, grey and bare.

I’ve raked the leaves and piled high
Some sticks and things for autumn fire,
And once the breeze blows all the time
I’ll light the leaves and watch them burn
And hope the wind won’t ever turn
Away from next door’s washing line.

You see, at six o’clock this morn
They began to mow their lawn,
And then began to prune their trees
With chainsaws blasting on full choke;
So I’m sending autumn smoke
To stink their house and make them wheeze.

There’s little worse than smoke-filled clothes,
And smoky drapes and runny nose,
And laundry smelling in a heap;
I’m even stinking out their car
With stench of ash and sticky tar.
In future may they let me sleep.