On the 24th of October 1926, the legendary U.S. magician Harry Houdini (Hungarian-Jewish born Erik Weisz, 1874 – 1926) performed his last show at the Garrick Theatre in Detroit, Michigan. A week later he laid dead in a local hospital. The reasons for his passing away have been subject to numerous urban myths, yet the […]

via Houdini’s Ultimate Disappearing Act — A R T L▼R K

Revenge is a Dish Best Served With Calculation. (2)

She stood over the pathetic figure she had put up with for too long. The late night drinking sessions, where, with a belly full of Wild Turkey he would come crashing up the stairs and turn her from sleeping beauty into his personal heavy bag. The scars of one particularly bad beating were engraved on her left temple.

“All you needed to do was ask me.”

A white stiletto went crashing into the side of his knee. Another shock to his already frayed nerves.

“A-ask you what baby?”

That word baby. She fucking despised it. Especially coming from this piece of shit. She strolled over to the gas cooker, turning the knob before reaching for her lighter again. She flicked open the clipper and lit the invisible gas causing the flame to turn blue. She took out the Glock once again and began to heat the end of the gun.

She had competed in the Miss Tennessee pageant in her younger years before the routine batterings had blemished a once flawless beauty. Eye for an eye she thought. Or at least a temple for a temple. She wasn’t religious after all.

After a minute or two she could barely hold the gun as the metal acted as a conduit and scorched her palm. She could see that the brutal ambush she had hit him with earlier was wearing off, so she moved quickly. Without warning she branded the gun into the side of his head, drawing a blood curdling scream from the dazed man.

“Y-you fuck, you fucking, y-you fuck…”

“Spit it out doll, I’m just waiting for you to hit me where it hurts.”

She held the gun teasingly in his eye line. Seeing the odds stacked against him he let his sweat coated forehead hit the lino, skidding slightly as it came to an abrupt stop.

Her cobalt blue eyes peered over to the knife rack. She thought about carving a pentagram into this bastard, going all Manson family, but then she thought against it – too cliche.

“Haven’t I h-had enough already?”

“We’ve only just started. Then again, you never could last too long…”

She giggled coquettishly. Moving from hard to soft, all the time controlling his already frazzled mind. Long had she planned for this, studied the art of vengeance in all of its most callous forms. She was a big fan of cold-blooded irony and had even considered finishing the show with the Iron Maiden – his favourite band – but there was a recession on and the courier delivering the device might have had a few questions before signing off the package.