"This was it, the beginning of sweet revenge."

            The house remained peaceful in its solidarity. The area surrounding it was nothing but a serene mountain landscape, and there was not another house for miles. The silhouettes of a family moved joyfully back and forth in the living room window. Their blissfully tranquil movements were mesmerizing, and William felt the artistic beauty of the moment in the depths of his heart.

            The peace was broken with the appearance of a man in the window. William shuddered at the sight of him, the smile on his face, and the repulsive arms that protruded from his shoulders. Henry Richard smiled at his two children inside, as they gleefully played about the room. William couldn't help but crack a smile in the thought of relieving Henry of all that made him happy.

            His heart beat fast, and his organs squirmed at the very sight of Henry, and his ignorance of the approaching storm. This was it, the beginning of sweet revenge. He stood up, fixed his tie, and rolled up his sleeves. William took each step towards the house carefully, humming Beethoven's fifth symphony, and dancing closely with the cold metal between his arms.

            He waited for the family to move away from the window before he approached the doorstep. He finished his humming, and he cocked the shotgun slowly but sweetly. Now for the grand finale, he thought, one that would even catch Beethoven by surprise. William loudly knocked on the door three times, and he waited for a response. He heard the creak of a chair, and someone stood up inside.

            “I'll get it honey,” said a soft voice inside. The beloved wife of Henry Richard moved towards the door. She opened the door, and her eyes widened at the sight in front of her. She looked like she wanted to scream, but the breath had escaped her lungs, and the noise that was emitted from her throat was more like a whimper. Henry's family got up to see the cause of the commotion. William entered the Richard household and closed the door behind him. He took a deep breath and smiled; he was the tempest, and he was approaching the family fast.

            Henry's wife quickly ran back to his side, and they put the children behind them at the sign of the sawed off 12 gauge that lay between William's arms. William couldn't help but stare at Henry's arms, the arms that had caressed William's wife in secrecy. It made him sick to his stomach, but he noticed Henry's wife moving towards the phone.

            “The second you touch that phone, your fancy new high heels will be covered in your daughter's blood,” William stated with a crooked smile.

            “William, look, whatever your business is here, it's with me, so please, leave my family,” Henry started to say.

            “I don't think you're in any position to be speaking right now Henry. You've said a lot of things during our friendship. Just what have you said to your family, huh? Do they know about your encounters with my wife?” William replied. He smiled, and casually moved the barrel of the gun towards Henry's wife. “How about you there dear? Do you know where those arms of your husband have been?”

            William's smile grew wider. He was pleased by the shocked expression on her face. “Don't be frightened now,” he proclaimed as he moved closer to her, “I promise I won't hurt you in front of your children.” He placed the barrel against her stomach and then ran his fingers through her silky hair. She turned her face away from him in disgust, and he smirked at her feeble attempt at delaying the inevitable.

            “Mommy...” Henry's daughter cried out. William glanced over at the child, and then back at her mother, as he eagerly awaited a response from her. “Don't worry honey, I promise everything will be fine,” Henry's wife sobbed. William detected an ounce of sincerity in her voice, which made it all the more enjoyable.

            William looked her directly in the eyes, and he pulled the trigger. The noise echoed throughout the home, and the remainder of Henry's family screamed. William's ears rang from the shot, and he was almost glad that it drowned out the pathetic screams of Henry and his children. The barrel sloshed as it came out of her bowels, and it struggled to fully remove itself. William pulled it out, and he felt the suction much like what he imagined a tentacle would feel like.

            “You promised!” Henry's daughter screamed, “You promised you wouldn't hurt her!” William turned to face her, now covered in blood. “You're right. That wasn't very fair of me was it?” William replied. “What is it called when people break fair rules?” William asked the little girl. “Oh that's right...cheating. It's called cheating. Your daddy likes to cheat doesn't he?” William questioned as he nodded suggestively.

            He looked up at Henry, who was still in shock at the sight of his wife, and the painting that her blood had made on the wall. “I'll make you a deal sweetie,” William told the little girl. “I don't like cheaters either, so I'll make this fair, okay? I broke my promise, so I'll break your mommy's promise too,” he stated.

            William looked up at Henry again, and his devilish arms. The arms that had torn apart William's life. The arms that had held his wife longer than he could ever know. He looked back down at the little girl, and cocked the shotgun again. “Honey, I promise everything will NOT be fine,” William said, in a tone that mockingly mimicked her mother. A loud bang, and a shell dropped to the floor.

            Henry was now crying and screaming at the top of his lungs. William cocked the shotgun once more, allowing the empty cartridge to find its way onto the floor next to the limp body clothed in pink. Upon a second glance of his daughter's dead body, Henry screamed in rage and ran towards William. Remaining calm, William pulled the trigger again, and the bullet pierced Henry's kneecap. He fell to the floor incapacitated, in a pool of his family's blood, leaving his son horrified, and speechless.

            William cocked the shotgun again and began to sing, “God rest ye merry gentlemen, let nothing you dismay. Remember, Christ our Savior was born on Christmas Day.” He looked at the boy, and then at his father writhing in pain on the ground at his feet. He smirked, and pointed the gun at the boy, “O tidings of comfort and joy, comfort and joy,” he sang as he pulled the trigger again. The boy hit the floor with a thud, and Henry attempted to get back on his feet. William could see the hate and anger in Henry's eyes, the very sight he had been waiting for.

            He cocked the gun and shot Henry's other kneecap, making sure he wouldn't get back up. Henry screamed in pain and disgust. William heard one word come out of Henry's mouth; “Why!?” William paced towards Henry's body and proclaimed loudly; “A wise man once said...If thy hand,” he paused and looked at him directly, “or thy arm causes you to sin; cut it off.” He walked to the fridge, opened the door, and looked for any alcohol. The bottle of cherry vodka would do nicely he decided, and he opened the top.

            William poured the vodka over the floor, and made special attention to pour enough around Henry. “If thy hand causes you to sin, cut it off,” William proclaimed as he dragged the bodies of Henry's children closer to his bloody friend, leaving streaks of red across the floor. “If thy hand causes you to sin, cut it off,” William proclaimed once more as he dragged the wife of Henry towards the others. He arranged them around Henry in a way he found amusing; a way that made Henry look like he had eight arms. The adulterous octopus had thrown his arms into unwanted places too often, only to have finally been caught. William hoped that amidst the corpses of his beloved, Henry would realize the cruel joke. He smirked, because amidst the bloody mess, he couldn't tell which arms were Henry's except for when they moved. For the first time in months, William's mind was at peace. In that moment he was free of the one thing he hated the most in this world, the one thing that had destroyed his life brick by brick.

            He pulled out a cigarette, lit it, and took one deep breath. He laid down his shotgun on the kitchen table. “And if thy hand causes you to sin, cut it off: it is better for thee to enter into life, maimed, than having two hands to go into hell... into unquenchable fire” William said with a final smirk, and he tossed his lighter behind him.

           

             

©Jeffrey Braga 2009