Welcome Visitor: Login to the siteJoin the site

The Payback

Poetry By: lifeofrhyme

Marek has his mind set on revenge when...

Submitted:Jul 27, 2011    Reads: 281    Comments: 0    Likes: 2   

When Marek first met Kelly Anne, she was 22 and almost certainly settling for the life of a bored and frumpy housewife that was happy to drift from day to day with not a trace of genuine loving from her bloke and never a compliment or boost of any sort; she had filled her time with gardening and the odd fleeting encounter with a barman at a party for a sneaky blow-job out the back or a clumsy drunken fumble when she was out with her friends.
Marek reassured himself from time to time and took umbrance to the fact that when he suggested she leave her life and run away with him, he had saved her; resurrected her life as it were; instilled some vigour and purpose to her existence; put a flush of colour into her pale but beautiful face; made her realise that each exhalation of breath was for a reason, she was not ready to become a zombie, not at twenty two years old, no way.
They spent every minute of every given hour from God together; he bathed her, fucked her, cooked her favourite dishes, ate her pussy like it was the finest and juiciest piece of inviting tropical fruit he had ever seen; He wrote her songs and rhymes, they role played in the bedroom and out of it; they dreamed, they shared fantasies, he spanked her when she was naughty; she used to take his manhood in her mouth dribbling before he could unleash it from his trunks; she would kiss it like she were desperate for it to love her, only her.
The love reached a crescendo of unimaginable proportions, the size and kind that most of mankind could live one hundred lifetimes and not experience; The kind and type that rears it's pretty head in big budget silver screen movies... frantic, explosive, intense and yet culminating in the all too familiar implosion.
He had always known she had small imperfections, not spots or callous feet; but a tendency to let her eye roam and her ear cave in to the sweet sweet sound of seductive promise. He knew this for he had used the self same technique on her.
Marek had long since succumbed to the realisation that somehow Kelly Anne had made her mind up and decided she no longer wanted to be with him; but hadn't found the courage or dignity to tell him. this alone made him sadder than anything... the atmosphere in the family home had become noxious; nuclear eggshells littered the floors.
He had grown to hate every smiling chef and Debenhams suited businessman in the land; despised them, cursed them internally; and outwardly with practised violent verbal outbursts that sometimes scared himself into a childish embarassment at the thinking of it.
This is now why he stands alone, above a figure he assumes is guilty of treachery and disruption. The Devil in disguise; except he no longer neeeds a disguise. the person that he had claimed as his own plaything,had lost his flashy attire along with the ability to sniff fanny or whisper sweet nothings as both his nose and tongue had been removed with the same scissors he uses to cut open bags of frozen vegetables. There would have been somekind of struggle but for the industrial sized screws that held him to the workbench; one placed through each elbow arms outstretched and one through his bowel. Rendered useless, there was whimpering and gargling offers of loyalty and surrender; but it was way way too late for any of that shit. Best advised in fact to relax as much as possible and accept like a man, the unbearable end to a pathetic life.
Each wound inflicted, the sawing off of the feet, the mousetrap snapped shut on the end of his cock, the sixty eight stanley blade slashes to his face and body, represented every time Kelly Anne had blanked Marek, turned her nose up or furrowed her brow whilst he spoke.
During the two day detainment and torture, Salt really had been poured onto his open wounds and bleeding body, followed by vinegar; and white spirit down his throat. Marek took great pleasure in pounding the cast iron doorstop into his skull at the end; a devestating crack to the head echoed and reverberrated around the room, slowed with time and then stopped.
Marek breathed out his anger one final time and turned away from his work to exit the scene, as he did so, he knew he was ready to fall in love again...


| Email this story Email this Poetry | Add to reading list


About | News | Contact | Your Account | TheNextBigWriter | Self Publishing | Advertise

© 2013 TheNextBigWriter, LLC. All Rights Reserved. Terms under which this service is provided to you. Privacy Policy.