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A Story About Revenge – A Short Story By Eric Blair

A Story About Revenge – A Short Story By Eric Blair
0 comments, 13/06/2011, by , in mac, Short Story

…He was a dark, grim man wit’ jet black hair wit’ a patch o’ gray in the front o’ it; he always wore a buzz cut. He had dark, beautiful, rich skin with these piercin’ hazel eyes. Lookin’ into his eyes, you can see there was so much pain in his soul. He had a scar down his face through his right eye. The man was a big Yank brute in Britain; the bloke smoked two packs o’ fags a day and ate beef raw like a barbarian. He was a warrior at heart and in his appearance. He looks up at me as he sits on the front steps and says, “Ay! Cum mere.” He places his rough, massive hand on my right shoulder. His hands were like gorilla hands; as if he strangles people for a livin’. He looks down at me and says, “I got a story fo’ ya ‘bout revenge, child…”

“It was ’75 in ‘Nam; the fall of Saigon. My platoon was hand picked by that fuckin’ peace lover Ford to go into Saigon to find any remainin’ Americans and good Charlies. It was a mass evac out of Saigon; there were a few idiots that didn’t get the memo. My platoon marched through the ruined city of Saigon, killin’ any gooks in sight with our fears in the wind and our balls on our sleeves. My buddy, David Richardson was this goofy, little cracker boy that loved killin’ gooks just as much as I did. So, our capt’n had us go ahead of the platoon to scout a few homes fo’ residences; I thought to myself, what fucker would wanna live in that fuckin’ hell torn city. But anyway, we found a few civilians and sent ‘em to our squadron. Dave was tellin’ me how he thinks he might have the clap from sum gook, teenage hooker. We were ignorant to the fact that we’re still currently in a war.

As we were scoutin’ the last home, we enter the front door and bam! Shots rained out; whoever was shootin’ was a surgeon with that gun. This gook ripped Dave’s stomach apart like a meat grinder. I was in complete shock but I rushed to Dave’s side before he hit the ground and put him over my shoulder. I began to run away with Dave’s intestines on my shoulder and drippin’ down my back. That’s when I felt the heat on the back of my thigh, I buckled for one second but I was still runnin’ fo’ cover. The bastard was still shootin’ at us. Once I found cover I looked down at my leg and I was shot, clean through. It burnt like a bitch; like someone lit a match in my leg. I am holdin’ Dave as he’s fightin’ back tear and tryin’ to hold his stomach in his body. I would never forget what he said to me, he looked up at me as his bottom lip quivers and his eyes waters. He coughs up blood and hands me a bloody letter to give to his sweetheart and his newborn son. He grabbed my hand with a mighty grip of life and said to me, “Letter…Amy…*Koff*…Give to…Blocks…Cake…No…*Koff*…The light…Fear…Can’t feel…*Koff*…Legs…Hawkra.” He died in my arms with his eyes still open; I watched his soul leave his body. The first time I saw soulless eyes, his body instantly become cold. I sat there for a few minutes holdin’ his lifeless body in shock ‘til finally my squad found us. Medic bandaged up my leg while my capt’n asked me what happened. I told ‘im I was goin’ back in and he told me no cuz the prisoners need to be alive; orders from President Ford. As four mo’ members of my platoon pushes forward to the house a dog fight erupts; I snuck away and made my way to the back of the gook’s house. I kicked in the back door with wrath and rage in my heart; not carin’ if a whole bunch of gooks was in the house waitin’ fo’ me. I just wanted blood fo’ Dave. Automatically I spotted Charlie tryin’ to hold off my squadron members. Before that fuckin’ gook could turn ‘round I let five out of my M-16 in his chest. I yelled out to my platoon lettin’ ‘em know I got the fucker. My squadron stopped firin’ outside as I limped over to the fuckin’ gook lyin’ on the floor in his own pool of blood. In the west of the room, his wife and two children were hidin’ behind some furniture. As he’s dyin’ he dares to utter, “I…I…I was…just…pro…protecting…my family. Remember…my face.” I put him out of his misery and put two in his head. In the background of my blood thirst was his family cryin’, speakin’ in Vietnamese and kickin’ in the front down was my capt’n. He chewed me out but all I can think ‘bout was Dave’s and that charlie’s face; still twenty years later I can still see their faces whenever I close my eyes or it becomes dark.”

He looks away from me as he tries ta hold back tears and says, “Hm.” He looks back at me with a pitiful look on his face and pecks me on my forehead then says, “I’m goin’ to the store fo’ mo’ cigarettes, go play, child.” As he walks away from me, he yells up the block at me, “Just remember, wrath will make you dig two graves!”

“That was the last time Ah seen my father, what an arse-hole way ta leave.”

Malik is sitting across from Trevor as Trevor pauses with his eyes closed. Malik let’s the moment pass and say, “No disrespect but what does this story have to do with tomorrow’s heist?” Trevor opens his eyes and smirks and says, “That story is the essence o’ my being, revenge. The moment Ah awake tomorrow the course o’ revenge will begin on all whom ’ave done me wrong will understand the meanin’ o’ nemesis. Ah sent out invitation ta all parties.” Malik laughs and then says, “You’re funny.” Trevor looks at Malik with a stone cold look with no expression but anger on his face. Trevor says, “Oi! When ‘ave you ever known me ta joke ‘bout things that are serious? Ah am a man o’ literal purpose. So, literally Ah sent out invitation ta prepare all parties for my wraith. My father informed me, once Ah embark on the journey o’ revenge against a respectable agent ta dig two graves. Ah already ‘ave twenty-four plus graves dug includin’ mines; mines is twelve feet deep. Ah ‘ave gave everyone fair warnin’, especially my father…Ah am comin’.”

Le commencement.

About Mr. Blair

Eric Blair was born in August of 1984 in Philadelphia, PA, and raised in the North Philly section of the city. He has always enjoyed stories, schemes, and the complexities of plots. At a young age he discovered that he could create narratives full of adventures, creativity, and intrigue. It was this realization that caused him to fall in love with the art of storytelling. At age of twenty-one Eric began writing comic books. His first professional book “Hip-Hop Chronicles” was written for Space Dawg Entertainment in 2004. Eric’s writing style ranges from descriptive to expository writing, where the writing serves to explain and inform the audience. He uses thoroughly developed characters, clever situations, and witty conversation style and tone to keep readers engaged. Eric is inspired by authors who can evoke an emotional response from the reader, as well as authors who can blend elements of fact with fiction to construct a great piece. Eric is currently working on a series of comic books that are soon to be published, his recent writings have been guest featured on several online blogs. He works on perfecting his craft by consistently updating his work, editing pieces, reviewing the latest relevant material, and surrounding his self with like minded, creative, intelligent people.

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