Reminiscing Words: She'll Get Hers... Let Her Have Him.

Revenge c/o tylershields.com

"F**k it! Let her have him..." Is something that I should've said once upon seven years ago when I thought I was in love with "the love of my life" before he decided to go back to his ex. But I didn't. I wrote. This lovely story (see below) was originally written with a twist of course. [Read it here: She'll get hers (09) - 1st written in 2006/2007. edited 2008. Posted in 2009. Ha!] I was afraid people wouldn't understand so I flipped things a bit... but I wrote it anyway.

After this one I wrote another. But didn't stop there. I wrote another. And another. More and more. Terrified of the gamble of it all, I still wrote everyday. And it's rather funny in hindsight how much I wrote. Then, the need for revenge ended but the ideas did not. So many things later... I still write. I still get inspired. I still get hurt. I still get angry. But I don't feel the need for vengeance. Why? If that guy had been the love of my life I never would have needed revenge. I would have let her have him. Enough said. They deserve each other... miserably. 

Do I worry about being in love again? Or how he'll see my words? No. My love will accept my past as exactly what it is: the past. As I will do the same for him. He may not understand where I was when these words were written but he will not judge me for my creativity. Love accepts, as is. You don't love someone if you need to change them. Anyway I know there's a guy out there with a unique spark for pondering the same darkness or at least an appreciation of it. 

Enjoy a little bit of vengeance revised...

kisses, m.

She’ll get hers

(3-20-2011 - revision)

Destroying something beautiful will set you free. How cliché of me to believe that. The beautiful destruction is nearly complete and I’m no more free than when I started.

Yet I’m standing over the body of this pristine creature gutting her insides and making ground meat out of her face. White skin completely emaciated and ripped clean from the bones.

Hmph! The broken bones. Well that’s worth a giggle.

What’s left of her golden hair remains tangled among sticky red, squirmy goo, which from my perspective… well it could be brains. Oh who knows? This spectacular mess is truly immature of me. All of it is nothing more than a temper tantrum that’s gone array. But it couldn’t be helped. At least not from where I was standing.

She had this coming and I don’t feel bad for it either.

“She’ll get hers,” is the thought that crosses my mind as I watch the conniving little bitch, with her short skin-tight black hooker dress, walk over to the car.

Your car. Our car. A black ‘68 Camaro. It’s the same one I gave you for our five year anniversary. The custom upholstered black leather interior with the red piping that you wanted. Nothing was too good for my guy until now, when the very glue that holds us together is being tested by this cheap piece of trash. Fortunately the same interior will hide any spill including blood.

With a flick of my cigarette I open the door. She slinks on over and slides in. I’m behind you Bitch and I’ve been anticipating this all night.

She carried on all the time. You were never the first or only one in her line-up. In front of my very own eyes I’d seen far too many players. Men. Women. Possibly animals?

Hmmph! SLUT!

It never made a bit of difference. Because it wasn’t sufficient to break up my home, she wanted more.

Enough!

Why should this filth be allowed to parade around in this manner? My limit had been reached and I was certain to catch her in the act. And I did.

She was always particularly interested in the chasing tail late at night. Right after a roll in the sheets with my man she couldn’t help herself but look for more. Couldn’t get enough and just like clockwork, there she was… Creature of habit. Another bar, another mark, another night.

Trollop.

Home-wrecker.

Whore.

Same thing. Different names for it.

You know THAT girl; the one that’s scheming and sabotaging her way into one bed after another without consequence. The type of filth you wouldn’t consort with. Needless to say, this type of common woman had weaseled her way into my home. And I’m about fed up with this game. I’m tired of defending my actions when I’m not the one to blame.

Sadly, I can’t blame you for all of your indiscretions with this common filth. This type of woman saw you coming and went for the kill.

Somehow the trick seemed to be in getting her alone to communicate my point of view. And honestly that proved to be less of a challenge.

When I picked her up in the bar, it was like a stranger giving candy to a child. Without much convincing the little Harlot just about jumped on me when I bought her a drink. Her eyes all lit up like a holiday when I flashed the ring on my finger. It’s the promise of money and a little two for one fun that gets the little bitch giddy.

After making my final offer clear, getting her out to the car required little effort. She could see the money, smell the excitement and taste the pleasure. But it’s funny though with all her senses working overtime she never saw the crowbar coming, especially when it caught the back of her skull after nailing her square in the face. Her tightly bound body slumped over in the seat without much effort as I gave in a little more.

 Just like she wanted.

Off into the dark night I carefully maneuver the car out along an unmarked road by the highway. There shouldn’t be anyone along this stretch of road until it’s too late. Delicately, I pull what’s left of the tramp out of the car.

After dragging her body onto the road, I gently remove my tools of the trade: Hammer, knife, screwdriver, and a pair of scissors for fun. By the time I’m finished, there’s going to be no chance of anyone identifying the body. No one will be able to guess that this wasn’t an accident. An accident where some unsuspecting motorist will assume he’s run over a wild animal.

Little to no skill is required to beat a human senseless with a hammer. So I proceed without caution. The thin lifeless body lies across the asphalt as I pummel down with my barbaric weapon. Uncontrollable rage can pretty much take over in an instant without any warning. Like a surgeon, the real skill comes in knowing when to stop.

The bloody hole of red spatters back at me and gasps for air. There’s no real face left and her sluggish breathing signals my cue to stop. “Darling, you really should have stopped at one tonight. That last one was my man you messed with and no one gets away with that!”

Merry Christmas!

Murder For Christmas.

I had this up last year! I loved this image so much and thought of using it for my christmas cards this year. HAHA! Anyhow... since it's christmas I thought I'd be generous and give you another story. This was unplanned, but I couldn't resist giving you MURDER for CHRISTMAS!! Merry Christmas to everyone! M.

Kiss the blood off of my hands.

Kiss the blood off of my hands. We’ll dance upon the flesh of the dead. Dine beneath the haze of moonlight. In the shimmer of candlelight our banquet among the blood can begin. Dance on the backs of the broken. Crush the bones of the fallen. Come darling, we can spend the night ruining dreams and killing hope.

That dark gentle night is still young and full of ambition. Death is prematurely upon us, yet our night has hardly begun. Another rest stop has prompted a handful of killings. She tried to tell me, “Red, don’t stop. Not here. Keep going.” Almost like a warning or a foresight of the bloodshed to come. I never listen. Stupid fool. Not to the little things. Just keep going like I know it all. Should have heeded her warning. But at the same time, I’m glad I didn’t. Tonight is already looking pretty special.

Ten county killing spree and we’re nowhere near stopping. Not anytime soon. She’s my Bonnie and I’m her Clyde. We’re a modern day duo ransacking and pillaging along an undetermined path that snakes throughout the Midwest. Killing anyone who gets in our way. I love my girl and it’s a testament to our commitment every time I cut some bastard’s neck. Likewise, I know just how much she cares each and every time her gun puts a bullet in someone’s head. Bloodiest pair of villains you ever did see; My Jackie and me. Newspapers telling the good people of the area to lock up tight and don’t answer doors to strangers. Locks and doors don’t stop death and it certainly won’t stop us.

Shop clerk tried to play hero with his shotgun. Must have caught a glimpse of me in the mirror and there’s a handy reward out there that will make anyone just brave enough. But I’m quicker on the draw than the blink of an eye. He was down on the ground with a single shot that landed square between his eyes. My little girl didn’t take kindly to being left out of the action. Within seconds of the gun discharge, she storms in, grabs the nearest bystander and starts cutting away with a butcher knife. Baby, don’t you know how I love it when you get crazy with that knife! Blazing onward I start gunning down the idiots running toward the back. One in the head and the other in the heart. Before I’m even cool again, Jackie has already taken out the last one standing. Bulls-eye with that knife. She caught him in the neck. Squirming to get the blade out, the fool can’t seem to understand he’s already dead. Blood runs out of his neck like a fountain, coating his clothing and pooling on the ground. Hands keep grasping frantically at the wound, trying to stop the flow. Too late friend. Time’s up. Kiss my girl as his body hits the floor.

First present I gave my Jackie was an old man’s eyes. She loved it. Almost more than the money and his old lady’s string of pearls. The sounds of sheer delight and satisfaction were unmistakable. The look of complete joy crossed her face. It would be some time before she returned my gesture, but it was worth the wait. The most beautiful display of death I’d ever seen in my life. I hadn’t realized just how talented she really was until then. Lover’s gutted and arms locked in an embrace for eternity without their heads. Hands nailed together and run through with long-stem red roses to accentuate the blood covering the unholy union. The posed lover’s lain to rest across a gentle blanket of white snow. Against the colors of dusk the moment was truly extraordinary. At that moment, beneath the dark starlit sky, standing upon the white canvas of snow, I swore to die by her side. The pleasure, the privilege would be all mine.

Out in the dark night once again, we head off into the unknown. Jackie covered in the scarlet pride of battle. That red violence sets off the highlights in her blonde hair. Quiet breaths escape that delicate mouth as she lights a cigarette. Heavenly. I could just stay in this moment for the rest of my life. What more could a man ask for? Money. Love. Death. Climbing back into the car, she’s behind the wheel and decided that our night’s just getting started. I’m game. Anytime she’s in, so am I. There’s another town about 50 miles away. Time to shake things up and I’m feeling mighty romantic tonight. Baby, kiss the blood off my hands and we’ll go dancing once more.

She'll get hers.

She’ll get hers.

Destroying something beautiful will set you free. How cliché of me to believe that. Yet here I am standing over the body of this pristine creature gutting her insides and making ground meat out of her face. White skin completely emaciated and ripped clean from the bones… Hmph! The broken bones. Well that’s worth a giggle. What’s left of her golden hair remains tangled among sticky red, squirmy goo, which from my perspective… well it could be brains. Oh who knows? This spectacular mess is truly immature of me. Nothing more than a temper tantrum that’s gone array. But it couldn’t be helped. At least not from where I was standing.

“She’ll get hers,” is the thought that crosses my mind as I watch the conniving little Bitch, with her short skin-tight black hooker dress, crawl into the car. Your car. Our car. Black ‘68 Camaro. Same one I gave you for our five year anniversary. Black leather interior. Custom upholstery. Vanity plates. Nothing was too good for my girl. Until now, when the very glue that holds us together is being tested by this cheap piece of trash. I open the door. She slinks on over and slides in. I’m behind you Bitch and I’ve been anticipating this all night.

She carried on all the time. You were never the first or only. In front of my very own eyes I’d seen far too many. It wasn’t sufficient to break up my home, she wanted more. Enough! Why should this filth be allowed to parade around in this manner? My limit had been reached and I’m certain to catch her in the act. The trick was getting her alone. She was always particularly interested in the chasing tail late at night. There she was… Creature of habit. Another bar, another girl, another night. She has this coming and I don’t feel bad for it either.

Trollop. Home-wrecker. Whore. Same thing. Different names for it. You know that girl. The one that’s scheming and sabotaging her way into one bed after another. The type of filth you wouldn’t consort with. Needless to say, this type of common woman had weaseled her way into my home. And I’m about fed up with this game. Tired of defending my actions when I’m not the one to blame. Indiscretions. Sadly, I can’t blame you. This type of vixen saw you coming and went for the kill. Stupid girl. Picking her up in the bar was like a stranger giving candy to a child. Without much convincing the little Harlot just about jumped on me when I bought her a drink. Getting her out to the car really wasn’t a challenge at all. Eyes all lit up like a holiday. Never saw the crowbar coming, as I caught the back of her skull. Over in the seat and off into the night.

Maneuver the car out along an unmarked road by the highway. There shouldn’t be anyone along this stretch of road until it’s too late. Delicately, I pull what’s left of the tramp out of the car. After dragging her body onto the road, gently I remove my tools of the trade. Hammer, knife, screwdriver, and a pair of scissors for fun. By the time I’m finished, there’s going to be no chance of anyone identifying the body. No one will be able to guess that this wasn’t an accident. An accident where some unsuspecting motorist will assume he’s run over a wild animal.

Little to no skill is required to beat a human senseless with a hammer. So I proceed without caution. Thin lifeless body lies across the asphalt as I pummel down with my barbaric weapon. Uncontrollable rage can pretty much take over in an instant without any warning. The real skill is knowing when to stop. Bloody hole of red spatters back at me and gasps for air. There’s no real face left and the sluggish breathing signals my cue to stop. “You really should have stopped at one tonight darling. That was my girl you messed with and no one gets away with that!”

On the story: Yes, I went there. It's moi, so of course I did. Please make a little a jump again. This is an old one that I pulled out of a journal from last August (2008). It was taken from different circumstances and a picture. I chose to tweak it a bit. For some reasons... another time another place. I'm totally thinking of a friend on the tweak who will appreciate it.

You know, I thought I was finished and well... SHOOT ME cause there's at least five more that I'm in the middle of planning. Tell me about it. I'm afraid to stop laughing about it though. Anyhow, two should be up in the next week or less... one is long awaited. Eh? Not telling. If I can continue to write at night, then maybe? Honestly, finding the time to write has been impossible and a stretch. For now the remaining October pieces will be up by the 31st. Big Kisses and ENJOY! kisses. m.

This Game of Murder.

Just found the most amazing site ever! For moi at least. See I just adore the old cover art on books and movie posters and this site is like, well it's like heaven! I happened to stay up brainstorming last night and listening to my IPOD so I am happy to say there's some new story ideas. There are two that I'm very eager to begin on immediately. One will probably be up by next week the other... Maybe not until next month? Playing that one by ear. Hint: It takes place in a ring. I think? Still working out the kinks. But it would be interesting if it did not? It isn't the circus, but there is a circus-themed one somewhere that I've not gotten around to...

kisses. m.


PS: *boxing - Shhh! (not modern)