Voyeur.

Oh so early in the afternoon for a little bit of dirty down in your soul. How about it? People watching. We all have voyeuristic tendencies. But how far do you take it? Are you a bit of a pervert that likes to peep behind the eye of a telescope? Or is it something that happens without warning? Like stumbling upon a couple making love in the street. Do you watch? What would you do? This is a little revised and R-rated from last year from a series of voyeuristic pieces. And it was published online at The Pittsburg Flash Fiction Gazette… if you fancy a bit of literotica, I suggest you have a look there. Anyway, have fun people watching… I know I will but not nearly as much as I enjoy participating in every aspect of life, love and breathing. But to each their own. Gotta live your own life. Not everyone will see it as you do. So... How about you? Do you love to watch more than you love to get involved? I guess some people do. Enjoy. kisses. m.

Voyeur.

(2-26-10)

Voyeur. People watching. Everyone does it. No one thinks anybody the worse for it. A simple glance over a busy room. Fleeting eyes across the open plaza. A thousand stories revealed to the anonymous bystander. Never been one for snooping on others. No intention of being the uninvited observer in the scene. Until I find myself all alone. Restless in the night. Unable to be entertained with the typical book and glass of Merlot. Pacing across the apartment, I catch the glimpse of light in the open view.  Familiar movement in the distance catches my eye. Something intriguing that can not escape my vision in the building across the way. Quickly I look around for my glasses when it becomes clear, the telescope. Jion sent it over as a housewarming gift three months ago. Devilish Jion, with his gift. The inscription, “Don’t worry about who’s watching you, as long as you’re watching back.” He knew I’d never use it. Or did he know curiosity would get the best of me eventually?

Curiously I grasp my new gift for the first time. Fingers gently find a home along the metal shaft. My eye dilates as it attempts to focus sight through the lens. Night opens up before my view. The buildings that surround are half alive with light and reflections. With a slight push I spin the arm. Winding down the building floor by floor until I can find my target. Along the way there are empty rooms and hallways filled with strangers exiting elevators, watching TVs, and making dinners. Once again discovering the movement, I stop. The golden hue illuminates the room in the building before me. Center of my attention is blurry but familiar. Carefully I lift my hand and move the dial. Click. Click. Aha.

Legs part as she reclines backwards. Open mouth, as her fingers run along his skin, savoring every movement below. Lifting himself upward and pauses before pursuing further. Waiting she trembles, never looking away. Hands rest upon bare breasts then trail down the front of her body as he kneels against the chaise. One leg remains on the ground as he rests slightly above her. She leans back on elbows against the lounge. Down he leans in and kisses her neck. Hands remain downward between her thighs. Every movement sends her head back with an open mouth. Pleasure. Descent continues. Further. His hips drop against hers rocking inward. Pelvis tilting upward. Legs lifting and falling in a hypnotic rhythm before circling around torso. Sweat dripping down. Faces alive with bliss. Open for view. Open for me. Open to me. Returning my view.

Turn away I think. Despite my blushing face I can’t look away. Smiling. Caught while I’m catching the act. Adjust the front of my coat to reveal my bare skin to him. His eyes continue to lock onto my position. All the while pursuing his fulfillment. I should stop now. But the show is far from over. My mind still wandering as I watch my hands began playing with my bare skin. Wet places explored as hot breath escapes my warm mouth.

The progression continues. She lifts his neck and makes tiny bites below the chin. Tongue crawls along the neck leaving a wet imprint. Hands lift and fall with frenzied intent. Gripping outer thighs. Tugging at waistline. Eyes are open and locked with intent. Wet lips meeting to consume before falling downward to devour at flesh. Heads rocking with sheer involvement of their arrangement. Arms pull and push as they grasp for more. Faster. Deeper. My thrusting fingers compete with the movements that climb toward a purpose. Quietly the act of passion declines. A final embrace quakes in unison. Smoothly he lifts himself upward. Standing over her open legs he smiles with sheer satisfaction. Her hands reach up and caress his torso while he turns and edges towards the window. Sliding onto her side she connects with my stare now. Fingers circling her bare breasts while she calmly watches him watching me. Boldly revealing himself, he leans in and nudges at the glass with a hand that entices. Inviting. So inviting.

Shouldn't have happened this way.

Shouldn't have happened this way.

(11-14-09)

Shouldn’t have happened this way. As a prisoner in the dark trunk of this old car sandwiched between two dead men, I lie here thinking just that. Somehow things went completely wrong, and I’m soon to find myself cooperating with the business end of a shovel. 

I should have seen this coming. It would have worked if I hadn’t walked back through the door. Things went all according to plan. Three vehicles; the van for ammo and reinforcements, the getaway car allowing timely departure and the van carrying the meds for any wounded. No one should have been killed. Leave none behind. That was his plan and yet here I am waiting to have my head severed from my body; along with my counterparts I would be burned and buried in a remote corner of the world.

There are times when a person questions the choices made and wonders what could have happened if the circumstances were different. No one would be dead, I wouldn’t be waiting for death, and the plan may have gone off without a hitch.

At least I’m still armed. In the waistband of my jeans there’s a gun. It couldn’t matter less as there’s no escape from this. Shoot a hole through the trunk? Using the gun to gain freedom my can serve no good purpose. My escape would result in an eventual death.

Mine.

But I knew the stakes going in. Pulling the gun on him would eliminate my current dilemma. However, those counterparts in this mass network of crime would undoubtedly track me down and end my life without question. Yet, the only solution to my present circumstances is to kill this man. Premeditating my crime, silently encased between the only friends I have left, as this car cruises towards its final destination.

The car comes to a stop. Red hue of brake lights blankets the interior of the compartment. White skin of my neighbor reflects off the high scarlet brilliance. Shifting of the bodies pushes me into the center of the trunk. Tightly packed in, swaddled in the comfort of death.

Near the front of the vehicle I can hear movement. There’s a voice approaching the car. Movement within the vehicle indicates that he’s getting out.

Door opens and slams closed. Booming altos disagree in a symphonic melody that ends in the sound of a lone gun firing. Listening intently the sounds of the exterior are still close. Steady myself and prepare. There’s only one chance at this.

Car rocks gently. Latch of the trunk releases. Steps fall loudly near the rear of the car and stop. External light enters the space. Fingers reach in. My eyes wait for the prize. Open. Large figure towers down over me. Shoot. Quickly falling backwards and down goes this shadow.

Climbing out of the moving tomb, it’s clear as day, I’ve hit the wrong person. A uniformed officer lies out along this deserted dirt road with a hole in his head. Along the side of the car there’s his body, the evil mastermind is dead. I need to get away. Get as much distance as I can from this mess. It really shouldn’t have happened this way... yet it did.

Ever have the opportunity to ride in the trunk of a car? Do you even want to know my answer to that question? This is really old and it's never been up a second time. So why not? Anyway... all aside the point.  

Have you ever said that "It shouldn't have happened this way" after the fact of a situation? You can keep telling yourself that but it won't change a thing. I know because I used to think that and blame my circumstances for... everything. A friend of mine probably remembers that too. kisses. A lot can change with your attitude and perspective. 

The truth of the matter is... there is only one way it could happen after it's already happened. You can't change the past. You can work on the present because that and that alone affects the future of any situation. You have to forget the things that happened or in some cases that didn't happen. And work on what needs to happen now. If there's been a mistake, miscommunication or etc. then you find another way. You dig? 

Do you want to know the difference between a victim and a survivor? A victim dwells in the past and relives the same pain over and over again by their own choosing. A survivor realizes what's happened, accepts the pain and moves through the present with the mindset to not make the same mistake again. Mistakes will happen though. It's important to learn from them. And remember sometimes people make the same ones twice. Don't be too hard on yourselves or anyone else. People who challenge you are the ones that teach you the most in this life. They're around for a reason. 

Anyway... there's a couple more coming. enjoy the night, the day, the life, the love and keep breathing. enjoy. kisses. m.

The Inbetween.

Having spent the better part of my life trying either to relive the past or experience the future before it arrives. I have come to believe that in between these two extremes is peace.

– Author Unknown.

The Inbetween.

(3-13-2010)


There’s a place between the counter and the fridge. A gap where the granite ledge of the counter doesn’t quite reach the aluminum surface of the subzero fridge. 3 ½’ tall by ½’ wide channel of darkness where things fall unnoticed quite often. Katy tells me that it’s where things disappear. Car keys, crystal pepper shakers, last notice bills, and mostly all odds n ends. And occasionally Katy’s homework manages to vanish in the void wedged against the nook in the wall. Every morning before school she sits next to the fridge and watches the space. According to Katy, once a mouse ran in and never came out. Into the black slice of emptiness and then nothing.

“Kory, how come the mouse didn’t come out?” She asks me everyday. “Will he ever come back out?”

I don’t have an answer for her. I’ve never witnessed the eclipsing powers of the space inbetween. My understanding is that nothing ever comes out. One way into the shadow. Until something came out…

The morning was like any other. Getting together everything before we head off to school. Katy neatly tucked away in her small corner next to the pantry watching the fridge.

“Kory, Kory! Come quick!” Katy’s small voice yells from another room. “Look what came out. You have to see it!”

Walking toward the kitchen I can see her excitement over this small Easter egg of a surprise. Hopping back and forth on her tiny little feet. Two little Mary Jane’s bouncy in delight over an unexpected revelation.

“KORY! What is it?”

Beneath her tiny frame looked like a crumpled up piece of paper. As I approach Katy grabs at the sleeve of my sweater.

“Pick it up! Quick, see what it is!”

Calmly I reach down for the wad of paper. Unwrapping the small ball I’m surprised to find a message. The words ‘HELP ME!’ are scrawled in a black waxy substance over a piece of Katy’s math homework.

“Quit fooling around.” Looking down at the culprit, I hand over the note. “This is your homework.”

“KORY! I didn’t do it. This came from in there,” Katy motions and points toward the black hole. “Look, this is my homework” Out springs the small hand waving a white piece of paper.

“Enough Katy. Get ready for school. You’re gonna miss the bus.” I turn and start to walk back toward the bathroom to finish my hair. I get nearly five feet away before she starts in.

“I’m not making this up. This paper came from the inbetween. I can prove it. I can… KORY!”

Out comes a blood curdling scream. Before I can finish a full spin around there it is. Five fingers and a palm. Open. Reaching. Stopping short of Katy’s shiny Mary Jane’s.

“MAKE IT STOP!”

Until that moment, I’d spent most of the time ignoring the childish notions of my kid sister. Truly nothing can appear from no where. But there I am face to face with this hand extended out of nothingness. Pulling back her shoulder I attempt to move Katy backwards.

“AAAAEEEEEEIIII! It has my foot. HELP!”

Sure enough the five fingers had wrapped themselves around the small right foot. Forward it pulls. In retreats the palm. Backwards I pull. Outward a wrist is revealed. Despite my efforts to win this tug of war, nothing helps.

“DO SOMETHING!”

Katy is frantic and shaking her foot to free from the grip. Quickly without thinking I wrap my hands around her waist and jerk backwards. Down she falls along with me.

“I’m free! Thank you Kory.”

A wave of relief passes over me as she jumps up and all over the floor with excitement.

“I told you things went in there and I wasn’t making it up! See…”

“Shhh…” as I motion my hands to silence the babe. Across from us lays part of an arm neatly upon the kitchen floor. Still without movement the phantom forearm extends from the darkness. Suspiciously I approach the motionless intruder. “Hand me a straw.” Small fingers lay open. Dead? Poke here and there with the straw to determine if it’s still alive. A jump. Thumb and index finger twitch and fall silent. Reflex. “At least we know it’s not dead.”

“Kory, I’m scared.”

With that thought up jumps the arm to full movement. Grabbing. Searching. Cautiously keeping myself and Katy out of its reach. Further the arm pulls from the darkness behind it. Nearly the hilt of it reaches out and beyond. Fingers dance up and down the custom cabinets and across the linoleum. Silently we watch until the fingers take hold and pull.

“My backpack! KORY!” She stomps her little feet in protest. The palm sandwiches inward to meet the unknown fingers as it trails the pink Hello Kitty backpack across the floor into its lair. The oversized bag disappears without effort into the small slit of nothingness. 

“Katy, please calm down. Be happy it was your backpack and not you.” Carefully I move inward to study the hole. There doesn’t seem to be another opening on the other side. Light never permeates the surface. Just a deep slit of emptiness behind the fridge. “Get me the piece of paper.” Tossing it in and wait. Within a matter of minutes out appears the hand. In an instant I pounce upon the intruder and pin it down. “NOW KATY! GET ME THE BUTCHER KNIFE!” In a flash I’m armed and the knife tears clean through the flesh. Back slides the wrist and movement in the hand stops. Fling in the dead intruder and wait.

Nothing. An hour. Nothing. A day. Nothing. A week. Nothing.

Things still fall into the In-between now and again. Homework, car keys and past due bills definitely manage to get lost from time to time. Katy doesn’t sit and watch it with the same enthusiasm. Well at least without taking precautions. To my knowledge nothing has ever come back out. Then again her Hello Kitty backpack did happen to turn up.

Revision. This was a children’s story. My first attempt and it was not my last. There are others and that’s all I can say. Can’t wait to share more. The in-between reminds me of a place referred to in my Buddhist readings. It is a place of peace for it refers to the best of both worlds. I’m sure you might think it sounds crazy to believe there is such a place between. But one thing I can tell you with absolute certainty there is peace of mind if you find it for yourself. Anyhow… I’m thinking of Matisse. Please enjoy if you’ve never read this one. And have a wonderful evening. KISSES. m.

Taste in Men.

Taste in Men.

(8-7-09)

Bad track record. 25 dates. Potential boyfriend material number ‘3’ in six months. I happen to have the worst taste in men. Time to change it. Possibly my track record speaks for itself. It’s not that I’m a man-eater per se. I just hate dating. Call me broken or damaged, but I just don’t like ANYONE. People irritate me in an overall general way. Well…

Potential #3. Very nice, sweet. Wants me to move in with him already. Talking future marriage. We’ve only had a handful of dates. He’s planning on relocating to DC next year too. Already talking about a long distance relationship and we barely know each other. Obnoxious. I don’t even know how he prefers his eggs. Indeed. This one is presumptuous of the situation. He “loves” me but needs to put a thousand miles between us. I don’t know? I personally just don’t like how his ears stick out past his hair and how his mouth curves when he talks about politics. But what do I know? Maybe I was getting ahead of myself looking for a reason not to like that poor bastard. Nope. Pretty certain I was right.

Phone. My sister. No pleasantries needed.

“Alexis. Yes, I’m home already!” I sing into the line as I shift to cradle the cell under my chin and attempt to find my Bluetooth in my purse.

“Mina how was the date?”

“It was AWFUL! Just dreadful. Co-habitation.”

“You didn’t!”

“NO! I didn’t” 

“He didn’t!”

 “YES!”

“Wow, hon, how are you doing? Did he take it…”

 “Damn it Alexis! I’m fine.” Breathe. Give up on Bluetooth. “Alexis please. Not right now.”

“Mina please tell me you didn’t. Not another one.”

 “Yes I did.” Breathe.

Silence.

“I know,” as I roll my eyes, “another one.” I pull out some chemicals from the cupboard and walk to the bathroom as I continue with my sister. “Alexis you really have no idea what it’s like out there. You’ve been with Andy for 5 years.” Mix my concoction next to the tub as I sit on the toilet.

“Mina, where is he?”

 “In the bathtub.”

“HOW?”

“Poison.” Pause. Enter frustration. “Please Alexis, not right now.”

“MINA! How did you even…”

 “LOOK, I’m up to my ears in lye and cleaning up this mess! I’ll talk to you later.”

“I’m calling mom! You are so out of control. YOU can’t just go around killing every bad date you have.”

“ALEXIS!!! DON’T YOU DARE! AND I DON’T KILL THEM ALL!” She hangs up on me. Well I don’t kill them all… “eh, just most of them,” I thought out loud. It’s actually kind of funny.

Where was I? Oh yes. Black rubber gloves. Apron. Mask. This particular fellow was actually quite sweet and a bit of a romantic. He always brought flowers and opened doors for me. Too bad, time to remove the clothes. Shoes first. Cheap boxers. No undershirt. Not gaining points here, in fact losing the few he had to begin with. I’ve got the fireplace going strong in the other room to dispose of the clothing and other such things. Before I can even begin to pour my chemicals in…

Phone. Never was able to find my Bluetooth. Sigh.

“Hi, Mom!” In my best perky voice. 

“Mina, are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m fine. I’m sorry about Alexis, she shouldn’t have called you.”

“Mina, do you know what hour it is?”

“Yes, I know it’s late and I don’t want to talk right now anyhow.”

“Well is he dead at least? You do remember what happened to…”

 “Yes, he’s dead!” I declare with sheer exasperation.

The body moves. DAMN! Plunger over face before he lets out a noise. I struggle a smidge with one leg on the wall and the other on the tub for leverage. I balance and shove him back. Mom continues to prattle on with her lecture so she doesn’t notice I’ve stopped listening. Phone still cradled between my ear and shoulder so I have a free hand which I use to reach down and grab the gun out of my apron. Move plunger. Zgt-Zgt. Silencer. Thank G-D for the little things. HE’S DEAD NOW! AHA. Take that. Bad date = 0. Mina = 3.

“MINA?”

“YES MOM! I’m listening,” as I clearly wasn’t and she caught on. We have the same conversation a hundred times so I’m just right at the part where… “Of course Mom, I know how hard it is to find a good man. Especially…”

“Mina don’t you even care?”

 “Did Alexis even tell you anything? Please Mom, no lecture tonight. I have my hands full and an early flight to Toronto in the morning.”

“I’m sorry honey. You do not need to be reminded.”

But I desperately need to do something with this naked bleeding mess of man in my bathroom right now.

“Mina? Toronto. Why?” She’s already latched onto the next motherly topic, my work. Which before I can answer… “The Steinham hit?!”

“OF COURSE, I took the Steinham gig.”

“Really? What do think your father will have to say about this?”

 “Mother! Don’t put Dad on the phone.” I do not have time for this tonight. I’m losing patience. You would think at 28 years old I can choose my own targets and assignments despite the obvious intrusion into my personal life.

“Hey button, love you!”

 “Hi Daddy, love you too!”

“You’re still my little button?”

 “I’m still your little button.”

“What is this I hear about you taking jobs outside of the family?”

 “DADDY! No! It’s just an independent contract.”

“Government, button?”

 “Again no, he’s not an official. I promise you I would never. This is the private sector.”

“Your Uncle Teddy’s got that job lined up still if you’re interested.”

 “Of course, I know about Uncle Ted’s offer. He called last week. I said I’d think about it.”

“Button, it’s a once in a lifetime opportunity. Paris is quite a beautiful place during the winter.”

 “Uh-huh. Paris is lovely in the winter, but it would also mean Christmas without you guys.”

“Button it’s a fresh start.”

“I know Daddy. I really could use the change of scenery. I’ll think about it.”

 “Thank you button, I know you have a level head about these things and will make the right choice.”

“Of course, Daddy.”

“Besides this one wasn’t good enough for my girl, was he?”

 “Oh yes, Daddy… This one completely deserved it. I swear.”

“See you this weekend?”

 “Ya, I’ll be by for dinner on Sunday.”

“Sounds great.”

 “Thank you Daddy. Love you. Big Kisses.”

“Bye-bye honey. Love you too!”

Back to the task at hand. Pour, pour, pour. WOW! What have I done? Maybe long distance wouldn’t have been such a bad thing. Him in DC, me in Paris. Sigh. What’s done is done. The chemicals have began to eat away at his face and once I return from the trip tomorrow night there’s not going to be much left of his torso anymore. I need to get over this already and prepare for my early flight. I’m tired. Paris is starting to sound divine this winter.

Phone. Now what? Potential 4. Lovely, just lovely?

Revision. Taste in men. This particular one had a facelift last summer when I was compiling the HOT BOOK. It's still around, but the book hasn't seen a lot of NEW as of late. The story... I wrote this a couple years ago after talking with some girlfriends about... what else? Men. I can recall listening to everyone complain about being alone but find a reason to discard Mr. Current, including "his ears stick out too far and I didn't mind it before but now...." Being moi, I thought hmmm?!?! So of course I volunteered the suggestion that they begin killing them as a public service for other women. Why leave these bad "ones" out there? Yes, that thought ended the conversation. They thought their words weren't so extreme to warrant my sarcasm. And oh how I know what you're thinking... tsk tsk. Not on the first date sillies. Kisses. Anyhow with this revision I'm reminded of people, men and women, who complain about being alone then attack anyone that actually will give them a chance. Give them a break or just don't agree to date them. It's not necessary to look for reasons to be compatible or incompatible. Just be. As someone once told me the same as I'm telling you... You're only alone because you choose to be. Anyhow... Enjoy, if you've never read this one. Kisses. m.

She'll Get Hers.

She’ll get hers.

Destroying something beautiful will set you free. How cliché of me to believe that. The beautiful destruction is nearly complete and I’m no more free than when I started.

Yet I’m standing over the body of this pristine creature gutting her insides and making ground meat out of her face. White skin completely emaciated and ripped clean from the bones.

Hmph! The broken bones. Well that’s worth a giggle.

What’s left of her golden hair remains tangled among sticky red, squirmy goo, which from my perspective… well it could be brains. Oh who knows? This spectacular mess is truly immature of me. All of it is nothing more than a temper tantrum that’s gone array. But it couldn’t be helped. At least not from where I was standing.

She had this coming and I don’t feel bad for it either.

“She’ll get hers,” is the thought that crosses my mind as I watch the conniving little bitch, with her short skin-tight black hooker dress, walk over to the car.

Your car. Our car. A black ‘68 Camaro. It’s the same one I gave you for our five year anniversary. The custom upholstered black leather interior with the red piping that you wanted. Nothing was too good for my guy until now, when the very glue that holds us together is being tested by this cheap piece of trash. Fortunately the same interior will hide any spill including blood.

With a flick of my cigarette I open the door. She slinks on over and slides in. I’m behind you Bitch and I’ve been anticipating this all night.

She carried on all the time. You were never the first or only one in her line-up. In front of my very own eyes I’d seen far too many players. Men. Women. Possibly animals?

Hmmph! SLUT!

It never made a bit of difference. Because it wasn’t sufficient to break up my home, she wanted more.

Enough!

Why should this filth be allowed to parade around in this manner? My limit had been reached and I was certain to catch her in the act. And I did.

She was always particularly interested in the chasing tail late at night. Right after a roll in the sheets with my man she couldn’t help herself but look for more. Couldn’t get enough and just like clockwork, there she was… Creature of habit. Another bar, another mark, another night.

Trollop.

Home-wrecker.

Whore.

Same thing. Different names for it.

You know THAT girl; the one that’s scheming and sabotaging her way into one bed after another without consequence. The type of filth you wouldn’t consort with. Needless to say, this type of common woman had weaseled her way into my home. And I’m about fed up with this game. I’m tired of defending my actions when I’m not the one to blame.

Sadly, I can’t blame you for all of your indiscretions with this common filth. This type of woman saw you coming and went for the kill.

Somehow the trick seemed to be in getting her alone to communicate my point of view. And honestly that proved to be less of a challenge.

When I picked her up in the bar, it was like a stranger giving candy to a child. Without much convincing the little Harlot just about jumped on me when I bought her a drink. Her eyes all lit up like a holiday when I flashed the ring on my finger. It’s the promise of money and a little two for one fun that gets the little bitch giddy.

After making my final offer clear, getting her out to the car required little effort. She could see the money, smell the excitement and taste the pleasure. But it’s funny though with all her senses working overtime she never saw the crowbar coming, especially when it caught the back of her skull after nailing her square in the face. Her tightly bound body slumped over in the seat without much effort as I gave in a little more.

 Just like she wanted.

Off into the dark night I carefully maneuver the car out along an unmarked road by the highway. There shouldn’t be anyone along this stretch of road until it’s too late. Delicately, I pull what’s left of the tramp out of the car.

After dragging her body onto the road, I gently remove my tools of the trade: Hammer, knife, screwdriver, and a pair of scissors for fun. By the time I’m finished, there’s going to be no chance of anyone identifying the body. No one will be able to guess that this wasn’t an accident. An accident where some unsuspecting motorist will assume he’s run over a wild animal.

Little to no skill is required to beat a human senseless with a hammer. So I proceed without caution. The thin lifeless body lies across the asphalt as I pummel down with my barbaric weapon. Uncontrollable rage can pretty much take over in an instant without any warning. Like a surgeon, the real skill comes in knowing when to stop.

The bloody hole of red spatters back at me and gasps for air. There’s no real face left and her sluggish breathing signals my cue to stop. “Darling, you really should have stopped at one tonight. That last one was my man you messed with and no one gets away with that!”

Revenge revisited and revised. a lot of things can change, including how you perceive. When you work against someone you are only working against yourself. There’s no vengeance necessary, but simply vocalizing it feels better sometimes. And don’t worry about it… they will get theirs. Because the best revenge is SURVIVING. Continuing and succeeding on your own terms is enough of a reminder to anyone who ever wronged you. This is an older one, possibly one of the oldest. The notes go back to 08. It was first posted with a tweak in 09. This is the closest and furthest from the original idea. Working on the older darkness makes me nostalgic and grateful. It also reminds me that it’s almost time to let loose a little more. If you’ve never read the original… take a look, She'll get hers (09) 

enjoy. kisses. m.