Payback

• Emilie Bouwman, Grade 10
• Poetry
• 2010

She waited in the shadows, staring at the five teenagers through red eyes. She stood as still as a statue, not wanting to draw any attention to herself. After a few moments, the group separated, three went one way and two went the opposite. Her prey was within the pair. He had abandoned her, turned her and left her to fend for herself. He used her to get what he wanted, then left. She was forced to turn into a monster, while he managed to control it. She had to abandon her family and friends, while he merely carried on with his pathetic life. Now, it was her turn to repay him, her turn to make him suffer.

She followed him down the streets, making sure to keep to the gloom. She couldn’t be seen now, not when she was so close. She’d only been this close once before, and she was caught. She couldn’t be caught now, she’d practiced so often. She’d been so careful when planning this out. Tonight was the night; she knew it in her blood. Her hate filled eyes glared at the black haired boy as he kissed the blonde girl on the cheek. That blonde was his next prey; she knew the way he thought. She knew the way his mind worked. But he wouldn’t torment any more girls like he tormented her. She wouldn’t allow it. She would stop him no matter what. Now he was her prey. He was going to suffer like she did.

The duo separated. The blonde walked down the street and then veered into a magnificent white house while he turned and strolled down the dark, empty path. Perfect. He was alone and in the dark. She didn’t think he sensed her, at least not yet. That was good, very good. Maybe she’d succeed tonight. Maybe, just maybe. She slowly followed him down the street, her padded feet suffocating any sound that might appear. She breathed softly; forcing herself not to pant like her entire body was telling her to do. She forced herself not to pounce, like her heart was demanding she do. She forced herself to continue following and to not be seen. She needed the right moment, the perfect moment, and then she would pounce. Then he would pay.

He stopped in the middle of the path, the moonlight shining on top of his head, giving him the essence of a halo; a malicious antithesis in her opinion. He was the devil to her, and the moon tormented her by giving him a halo. Once again she forced herself to not pounce. Now was not the right time, he was in the light. He needed to move just a few centimetres forward, then she could attack. Not a thing could be seen within the darkness, and if he moved forward, he would be hidden as well. An evil smirk graced her dog-like face as he moved those few centimetres forward, and she lunged.