# Revenge

Jun 23 rd , 2013 • ∞

I rinse the blade in the stream. Blood clouds the water.

I always return to the stream. When His man pitched me over the bridge, so long ago, these rocks broke my fall, broke my body.

As the sunlight fades I walk the mile to the woodcutter’s shed. I must sleep before mother comes.

Even before I see the shed I can hear the woodcutter hunting for the axe. It is no longer his, if it really ever was.

I shout to him: “As I tell you every night: I have your axe. I will cut the wood.

He still smells of rot. He sees the axe, grunts, and sits down next to the shed.

I go inside. I return things to their shelves, right the table and cot.

I sleep. I dream of the axe.

Rocks slip under my hands as I crawl from the stream. Bloody hair splits my vision.

His hearing must have been poor, yet he hears me crawling in the brush. He splits a final log and walks over.

I awake sometime later on the cot. In my arms is the axe.

It is daytime. When I step outside the sky is steel gray.

I do not scream. I return to the shed, find some salted fish, and eat.

I awake to my mother calling me from outside. I get up and step outside.

I begin to walk towards her but she tells me to stop. She says I must avenge her.

Something twists in my gut. Something draws me back to the shed.

I wake. The moonlight streams through the doorway again.

I feel the axe. It wants to be in my hand.

Hours later we reach Dormsmort It looks much like the other forts we have visited over the years. She leads me to an overturned cart some yards from the fort.

I follow the steps with axe in hand, blindly making my way down a long hallway. As I walk, the sounds of feasting get louder.

Ahead, a line of light slowly comes into focus, revealing itself to be a slit between two small doors. I move to the slit and peer out.

A voice shouts for a toast, tables are pounded, and legs rush past the slit. I wait, slowly open the doors, and enter the kitchen.

I walk back, pull it out, and see I was mistaken. He did not have His face.

I carry the boy deeper into the kitchen and take his uniform. After stuffing his body into a cupboard, I dump flour over the blood stains.

Somewhere, my mother is laughing.