Bloody vengeance

Here is the story I was having trouble printing. Everyone who has read my writing says that it is the best I have written yet. Now it is time for the new to decide.

Just to warn you, this is not a kid friendly story. It would be rated R for violence and some language.



Bloody Vengeance

I burst through the door, my duel Ingrams blazing a bloody path through the room as three thugs leave a red impression on the wall. The rest go for their guns, but it’s too late. They are already dead. They just don’t know it yet. I dive behind a table as they open fire, their guns creating a beat you could dance to. But this is no nightclub and the only people dancing will be them.

I wait for them to empty their guns before breaking cover. Two of them dance a jig courtesy of the lead injections I give them. Two to go, but my band runs out of notes. I drop the Ingrams and pull out my Barrettes. A cymbal crash sounds as thug #2 fires his boomstick. Plaster flies from the wall as I dive for cover.

#2 gets cocky, thinking he has my number. The fat lady is warming up, but it’s not my funeral she’ll be singing at. He stands in the open and she hits a high note, wailing like a Banshee, as hot lead fills his body. His buddy takes a few pot shots, but I’m in the clear. He drops like a ton of bricks as I hit him, double taps to torso. The concert’s over. Time to head to the next stop on the tour.

I walk to the door, but something stops me. The audience wants an encore. I turn around and see #1 trying to get to his feet. I pull my trigger and hear a click. The band has left the building.

I pick up the shotgun and crack the barrel. One shell left. Good. That’s all I need. He begs for mercy as I walk towards him. I wonder if my family begged before their brains were splattered on the wall. In my mind, I can see them there. On their knees. Beat. Bloody. In my mind I see my wife’s face as my son is killed. Gray matter hits her as she screams. She holds Jason’s lifeless body as the barrel of a gun is presses against her temple. In my mind I see the face of her killer as blood and brain tissue sprays him. He smiles. He laughs. In my mind, the killer bears this mans face.

He screams as I step on his hand. I grind my foot like I’m putting out a cigarette. The crunching sound brings a smile to my face. I press the barrel of the shotgun into his other hand, pinning it to the ground. Blood sprays my jeans and he screams in pain as I pull the trigger.

I reach into my jacket and throw a note on the ground as he cradles his bloody stump. I should kill him. I should paint the room with his blood, but I need him alive. He will be my example. An example of what will come. With that note, he becomes a message as well. A message to his boss, Giovanni. I’m coming for you, you bastard. And not even God himself will stop me.