With murderous intentions, I think of all the people that have been unkind to me. I think how nice it would be to reward their actions with a living hell. I'd like to make every second of their pathetic little lives unbearable, watch as they squirm in their agony. Watch them twist and try to break free of the vice that squeezes them.
The more they struggle the worse I'd make it. Flesh screaming from the pain, mind in turmoil from its flesh being burned away. Bodies broken, mangled, defaced, bent into most unnatural positions.
But no, physical pain would be an easy way out for them. I must destroy what they love, defile what they hold sacred, and ridicule the beliefs that are the foundation of their very being. I must make them feel the loneliness, despair, anguish, and fear that I have felt. Their willpower will blow away like dust in the wind, and they will be broken.
Nothing but a shell of a human figure. Hearts broken, will to live gone. Then they will realize their error, but it will be too late. Judgment will be made on what is left of what might have laughingly been called a soul. Their heart, blackened by hate and anger, will show the marks of hellspawn, and they will burn for eternity, an eternity of repeating past mistakes, and having their actions pointed back at them. They will learn, but too late, for they have become worse then those they abuse.
People will curse them in many tongues, and their memories will be defiled and will become parables told to children, dire warnings of what they could become, what will happen to them. Revenge will be sweet, and it will be mine. I will bathe in its coolness, and feel its juices soak into the wounds caused by them.
Revenge will be sweet and it will be mine!
This story appears courtesy of Omnicolor, Editor in Chief of Digital Darkness
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