I Prefer The Word Revenge

• Alex Hamilton-Vonhoff, Grade 9
• Short Story
• 2019

I woke up screaming. The hideous bog men haunted my dreams. The manlike creatures appeared out of nowhere, their revolting complexion of dead frail skin, empty eye sockets and lack of emotion sent blood curling chills down my spine. I must have seen my grandfather die a million times. Every time I wake up, I hope that it was all a dream, only to realise the bloodcurdling truth.
He had smiled. ‘I don’t think we will meet again for some time, goodbye Maria,’ he flung himself at the figures, that was my last memory of him as he was struck down. He hit the floor, my grief came strong, my blood raced, my head spun so fast. I became dizzy, my anger was overwhelming, I ran at the figure that had killed my grandfather, knocking over others in my way, one by one. I slashed at the figure jabbing my sword at it. The tip of my sword pierced into the dry skin of the beastly creature. It collapsed. I kneeled to the side of my dead grandfather, soaking my knees in blood.
My last family member dead. First, my father, then my mother, now my grandfather lay before me, unmoving. I didn’t care anymore I was lost in my own swarming grief and rage. I screamed as the figures came at me, there were thousands of them. I looked directly at them.
I woke up, hot tears streamed down my cheeks.
I walked to where my grandfather now laid sprawled and lifeless, his eyes were open and he was grinning the same smile he always wore. Yet, this smile was different. It was only when he lay there looking up at nothing with his forever young eyes and wrinkly genuine grin, that I felt his grief. With the death of my father, also came the death of his son. I smiled back, then closed his eyes and kissed his forehead, and held his hand in mine. It was cold, unsympathetic, and emotionless.
‘I’m sorry,’ I dropped his hand, it flopped lazily on the floor with a sort of thud, raising little fragments of the earth into the air, this was probably the hardest thing anyone would have to do.
‘We have to go, Maria’ my friend, Al said from behind, breaking my thoughts, ‘we are still in danger.’
I ignored him, looking at my grandfather. I leant in
‘Goodbye,’ I whispered, then I stood up, my bloodstained knees were trembling unbearably, I turned from my dead grandfather and walked away, not looking back once.
They have only won temporarily; I will win in the end. They have taken everything from me, what now do I have to lose? I remain, still breathing. It seemed that my heart had turned to stone over the course of the past few years.
With nothing left to lose, I set out. Some may say with vengeance, I prefer the word revenge. Revenge for my father, mother, and now my grandfather.