Vengeance- a short story by Paddy Johnson

Here is a short story I wrote yesterday. Please tell me what you think about it or your interpretations of its meaning, which I will eventually reveal.

Vengeance

1000 eyes but he’s still blind. He staggers on through rain, thunder and shine witnessing first hand accounts of hate, love, loneliness and discomfort. He struggles on through desolate landscapes, barren lands, desperate times and alienating experiences. He wonders and wanders endlessly under a pitch-black cloak of suffering, shielding his face from the outer world. But they can still see him, sense his presence in mind, body and soul.

It is solitude, which most affects him. He finds that, sometimes not everything is what it seems. Some keys unlock more than one door, rain can bring the brightest of weather and no-one is ever completely alone. He finds comfort, happiness in his head. An irreplaceable feeling which he is certain no-one can steal from him. He realises with a triumphant grin outstretched on his darkened face, that friends aren’t everything.

He releases himself from their tight grips, and lets out a cry of happiness. He is completely free, with more enthusiasm and comfort than ever before. He does not care what anyone thinks of him. His expression triumphant, he knows inside his brain that he has reined victorious overall.

He does not feel the need to be understood, as he now understands himself. He fears no longer from hate and abuse, but returns to many a happy cheer, his face a portrait fixated in the heads of everyone for miles around. The wrong reasons redeem themselves, and all is forgiven almost as if there was never anything to forgive in the first place.

He rips the chains of solitude from his flesh, the needles of hatred from his skin and dashes triumphantly towards any direction. At last, his sense of full loving is fulfilled. The experience may have tainted him, but overall has done him well.

He does not stand up for any nonsense, treads carefully retracing every step, forever watching his back cautiously. He has changed and now the tables have turned. He is the oppressor in a land of false judgement. They now experience and breath the same foul, twisted air that he once inhaled. Experiencing in full detail his hardships, troubles and pet-hates to full realisation.

They beg for his apology, but what is done will always be done. Now his past is their present and no power in the world can change that except him. But he is once again bitter, sour and merciless in his ever-burning lust for revenge. Sadness smothers him and strangles his insides. Isolated in a cold dark room, feeding on thoughts, drinking the blood of those who suffer under his own iron fist.

The blood reigns from the walls of his existence. He stammers, and breaks. He cannot take this any more, and forcefully kicks open the door. He has exploded and his excessive emotions are released onto the unsuspected victims, as they once victimised him. Like dominoes, they fall one by one. He feels unstoppable, and screams out his emotions, breaking his victims as they have done to him so many a time before.

He is crazy, wild eyed and without a care in the world. Past emotions, nothing but an empty, desolate shell remains. They cannot control him anymore, fear his presence, his existence. He knows he cannot struggle on in these conditions. He is not that sort of person. His emotions have transformed him, broken his existence into a mere shard of glass in an ocean of windows, all reflecting on his past suffering.

He faints, quivers, exposes himself to the elements and eventually joins hands again to the forgiveness of authority. He is deep in trouble, but is perfectly aware of the fact. He collapses under his own weight of mind, his head swollen and shuts the door on outer society.

Triumphant, dominant, although far from happiness, he seeks the very things that he has ignored for so long now. Where have the good times disappeared to? People who he once knew, respected, cared for turn away in disgust as he watches helplessly. Only he is to blame.

He tries to hide his weaknesses, although they are blatantly obvious even to the most unaware of folk. Behind his vision, lie haunted, tainted pupils of distant morals. Unexplained examples of sickness become more apparent. He hates himself now, sickened by his grief and anxiety. He shakes his head, in a brave attempt to eradicate the fever. He cannot.

He is the cause of his own failure. A failure which was by no means his fault, but the fault of others who had pushed him to unforgivable limits. If there ever was a sin to be committed, this was by far the worst.

He tries to regain qualities such as friendship, loyalty and trust, but drowns in a swamp of uncertainty. He has lost his identification, a false character in place of a kind, helpful gentleman. He cannot believe what he has just done. Cannot face the outside world ever again…

They are past understanding and refuse him once again, retreating on his appearance and whispering behind his back. Once again, he cares about them, and more importantly, what they think of him. His sense of freedom evaporates into thin air and for once, he turns back and welcomes his abusive past with open arms.

His tormentors, although far less wise and emotionally developed as him are what make him human, body and soul. He understands fully now, that, there is absolutely no point in any violence whatsoever and his vengeance has only worsened his condition.

He grits his teeth, but this time to bear a different pain. Thankfully, the worst has past, and he unlocks the door. Welcome faces and blurry visions fill his view, and he closes his eyes once more. He lets them take his friendship, his unification and mingle them with outer society.

His eyes open once again to perfect joy and happiness. He cries tears of solitude, for one second forgetting everything that has ever happened to him, before sighing and raising the object to his head. The end is nigh…

By Paddy Johnson