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Dean Fraser-Phillips

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A tale of revenge
By Dean Fraser-Phillips
Sunday, June 19, 2011

Rated "G" by the Author.

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A short introduction into a mans tale of revenge on the wife whom left him for dead.

The sound of my own breath echoed in a room where time stood still.

This realm of self-imposed darkness that I had chosen to be my home. My sanctum. My domain.

When one cannot withstand the harshness of life and the bitter lessons it teaches us then exile was my only available option. A place where nobody could find me.  Where emotions could not touch me and above all a place where my heart could begin to cement the cracks that had shattered my hopes and dreams. In a room with no light, the only available visions come from deep within my own consciousness.

A wise man once told me that the only person who you can truly trust is yourself. Others will come into our hearts, some may seize it, and one may possess it. Yet the only person who truly knows us most is ourselves.

So here I am. On my quest for self-enlightenment, my journey for the answers to repair my shattered soul.

It was that one moment on that balmy summer’s day that will be etched into my memory for all eternity. It was not a specific day, rather a mundane one. Yet the way in which you suddenly left, will be etched into my soul forever. A heart that was once so full of fire now reduced to mere ashes and cinder.

No feelings, no emotions. Just a charcoal darkness that you once called love.

Then it all began the domino effect. One cruel blow after another from the sharpened blade of life dug deeper and deeper into my heart. Twisting its cruel and cruel pain induced lessons into my honourable and gentle soul. There was so much pain that I actually became oblivious to it in the end. There was just a numb feeling. Maybe I took too much, or maybe it became part of me.

Shhh can you hear that?

Is it the rain beating down the window or the remainder of my crimson tears dripping onto the vacant wooden floor that I now call home? Either way they form a symphony of despair that has become the soundtrack to my life.

The shadows of the night illuminate on the wall where the moonlight dares to enter. This light is the only friend that I have allowed or will accept into this sanctuary of self-discovery. It is the only light I need, the only friend I have. It is the only thing that shines.

The questions I have had no longer exist. The answers have become clear. You have long gone, in your mind and heart you not only left me for dead, you probably forgot that I even existed.

Yet I do.

Clearly I exist.

My hands that were once so tender and gentle on your skin now form hammers as I smash my way out of the darkness. The light blinds me, almost scorches my eyes into oblivion. Yet the effort has been worth the wait.

I no longer hide; I no longer run for everything has become clear. It all makes sense.

The flames of passion that once danced your name upon my heart have been replaced by a volcano of revenge that will never be extinguished.

Am I to blame?

No.

You made me who I am. You made me this.

This is what makes me, this is who I am.

I step out into the bright sunrise of a new day. Fear is my friend, revenge is my soul.

Revenge will never bring redemption. Yet it will cement the past.


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Reviewed by J Howard 6/19/2011
wonderful writing style. poor twisted deranged soul. where is the rest of the stody...let me know.
jch

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