Revenge. it drives us in ways we never expect, it eats and eats until there’s nothing left. It consumes till it leaves you hollow, blinding your sense of reasoning and leaving you wondering why you started the dangerous walk in the first place. There is no halfway with revenge. Once you start, there is no going back.
A tall slender woman in her late thirties with warm olive skin, moved with a hurried grace through the crowd. She wore a light green gown with a pink fascinator, a jarring combination which she had become quite popular for pairing. She walked with the frantic pace of someone being hunted, though she fought to keep her composure.
She wore a fake smile as she moved through the crowd, desperately trying to avoid any conversation. She cut through the crowd avoiding eye contact as that was always a conversation starter. She had her purse clutched tightly, to keep her growing anger contained. She made her way to the elevator, losing her composure the second the elevator door closes.
“How could he choose to turn against me in this manner?” she screamed, “I shall not allow him to ruin my plans.”
The moment elevator door slid opened, she emerged, moving with long strides that ate up the distance of the corridor. Her eyes locked on the door at the end of the hall. Reaching the room, she didn't hesitate. The handle turned under her grip with a smooth, heavy resistance, and she swung the door wide, stepping into the space and seeing a man in his mid-twenties; the man she’s been looking for.
She pushed forward with her arm against his neck. She moved forward until they hit the wall. The man didn’t try to fight, his gaze was flat, eyelids hooded halfway over dull, vacant eyes.
“I can’t do this anymore,” he said, every word leaden.
“Spare me the excuses. We have invested too much to simply watch our efforts crumble,” she yelled.
“There’s no point anymore, maybe we should just let the whole thing be.”
Tears filled her eyes, “you have no idea. Absolutely no idea of what I’ve been through.”
She pushed him harder into the wall and then let him go, then fell to the floor crying. He still stayed against the wall where she left him. His eyes hollow.
“I was six years of age when they first noted the clearing, an Arazin devoid of freckles; such a thing was unheard of. My father passed when I was but thirteen, by which time circumstances had grown dire. Allegations arose that I was not truly an Arazin, and a sense of dread began to take hold.
High society refused us entry to official gatherings, and it was not long before I was stigmatized within school. We could scarcely venture anywhere without enduring stares and whispers. In time, the crowds grew bold enough to cast refuse at us. Or perhaps, not at us, merely at me. I could not comprehend why they would not simply leave us in peace.
When I attained the age of sixteen, I was brought before the court. My own mother testified against me. I still recall the expression she wore; how she maintained such a cold, unwavering gaze. I was imprisoned because my freckles had blended into my skin, because they were no longer visible. I shall never forgive them. Never.”
“I don’t want in anymore. I miss them,” he said, still standing against the wall.
She chuckled, “Most certainly,” she cleaned her tears and stood up. Smiling with tears still flowing down her cheek. She opened her purse and searched through it, bringing out a paper and a card.
"You should examine the files before you reach a final decision."
“I’ve already made up my mind.”
“Examine the contents; you will regret it if you do not. Should your position remain unchanged, I will respect your decision.” She shoved them to his chest, and left.
He took the paper and card. The paper had a location and a combination to a vault, while the card was to open it. He went to the location, opened the vault and read through the files. He burned with anger after reading the files and picked up his phone to dial her number.
“I read it. Let’s burn it all to the ground.”
“I knew you would come around,” she said from the other end of the line.