Roosting Revenge by, Madeline F.

I froze- limp with the terrified realization of what was unfolding before my eyes. Though I was screaming as loud as I could, everything was silent, no sound escaping my frantic lips. Every thought in my head was replaced by a deafening ringing. The world began to shrink, to suffocate me slowly, to make every bone in my body want to explode. The cornfield’s dusty, distinct air filled my burning lungs, as my unblinking eyes sweltered from the breeze. The grey sky was constricting, millions of billowing clouds slithering around like wicked snakes. Unable to control them, my legs began to run away, back the way I had come. Back towards the barn which I had once considered home. One petrifying image permanently seared into my vision- my grandfather holding the only thing in my life of any worth, my pet rooster, Cheri. With pitiless features and hatred in his eyes, the sight of his strong hands clutching my cherished pet sent acid-like bile shooting up my throat. Unable to stop what was about to happen, I felt utterly and completely helpless.

Everyone has something in their life that means the world to them, even if to the world it means nothing. For me, that was Cheri, the last gift I ever received from my parents. The last time I can remember being truly happy. My last memory from when my life was uncomplicated and normal. Right before my life turned upside down. A little too late, specialists determined that my mom was a certified psychopath. Of course, this was after she’d ruthlessly murdered my father. Seemingly proud, she boasted to officials of how she ended my father’s life, all while he slept peacefully. No motive was ever discovered, even I don’t have a guess. Because my mom got shipped thousands of miles away like the unwanted cargo she was, and my father was quite obviously unable to care for me, my grandfather came to stay at our barn. Though he constantly attempted to fill the gaping hole of loneliness which was now my life, his efforts were all in vain. To have a life filled with only depressing sorrow and void of joy is a weight that no one should be forced to carry on their shoulders. Sadness was all there was to my life, except for, as might be expected, Cheri. He was the bright shining sun to my endless night- and even though I may sound like Romeo rambling on about his Juliet, I make no exaggerations. Without Cheri, I surely would have fallen apart much sooner.

It had been eight months since my father’s passing, and life for me had once more fallen into its tedious, rhythmic pattern; each and every long day held the same nonsense as the last. I think even Grandpa agreed. For awhile, he occupied his time with frequent calls to my parents’ lawyers, sorting out dozens of monotonous technicalities. These past few weeks, however, he’d gotten abnormally quiet and solemn. I could tell with ease that reality had caught up with him. His vacant, mourning expression was all too familiar- the same empty eyes that had stared back at me from my mirror just days before. My dad, Grandpa’s precious, only child, was dead. The truth of this seemed to haunt the both of us. Grandpa had rid our barn of any traces of my parents- aside from Cheri. After hours of desperate pleading, he’d finally given in to allow me to keep my pet, and would go on to acknowledge her with nothing but harsh, fiery glares.

Remaining in complete solitude, aside from being with Cheri, became my new hobby, staying in my room except for when I absolutely had to go out. I was content like this, the voices in my head providing me with supple conversation. Sometimes my overtired brain would conjure up illusions of the once-happy family that I used to call my own. Often I felt like a prisoner to my own ideas, diabolically duping myself into believing I could be happy again. As time went on, days turned into weeks, which turned into months- all blending together into one melancholy and monotonous blur. Every single wretched day was equally as predictable as it was unbearable. Nothing ever changed. That is, nothing ever changed until one morning when I awoke with a feeling in my gut that something was off… something was different.

I wish with all of my heart that I could tell you that the “something different” I was feeling was that I had attained magical powers, or had woken up with an entirely new life, but I can’t. I began my morning like I would any day. Waking up, bathing, eating breakfast, grooming Cheri, and so on. Well, I had gotten through the third step when I noticed that something wasn’t right. Cheri was nowhere to be found. After searching the barn, I knew I had to go look outside, an action which I hadn’t done for days. The sunlight blinded me momentarily, and in those few seconds, I simply took it all in. The smells, colors, sounds- they all reminded me of the jubilant summer days when I pranced along carelessly, my loving parents by my side. Almost immediately, I spotted a feather, the same distinctive titian color that I so adored on Cheri. There was a second feather on the edge of our corn field, and a third further in. Without a second thought, I charged into the field- following the feathers.

After about a minute moving in a dead sprint, I heard a stifled scuttling. Rounding a corner to a small clearing, I screamed- but only terrified silence escaped my throat. My grandfather, murmuring unintelligibly about his late son, strangled the life out of my sweet Cheri. I made out the words “nostalgic burdening creature” and “horrible reminder”, then heard a muffled noise, and seconds later I fled- sprinting despite my burning lungs and the tears streaming down my pale face. I think this was the moment when I snapped.

Sitting on the cold floor of my dark room, my frantic mind began spinning a twisted plan. I could’ve endured a thousand more deaths, my father’s or another’s, so long as they weren’t Cheri’s. Surrounded by puddles of my own tears, I made a decision. I sat for hours, glaring at the happy sun and only grinning when the darkness of nightfall swallowed the day. Stealthily, I made one delirious phone call. I crept to the barn by moonlight, finally taking action. Getting my revenge. As I snuck into his bedroom, a maniacal smile plastered itself onto my face. The rhythmic breaths of my slumbering, peaceful grandpa put me in a vengeful trance. Each inhale or exhale replenished my rage. I was ready.

Thoughts of Cheri noisily flooded my head, making a silent night chaotic and frenzied. Amidst the pandemonium, I recalled something my mother had always said, that “justice cannot be attained calmly, only with intense determination and ferocity”. Perhaps this was the same manner of thinking which compelled her to murder my father- and not even in a quick manner, but stabbing him seven times. I could still picture the knife which she had used to do it, it’s elegant silver blade, and sharp, satisfying point. A weapon quite similar to the one clenched in my hand at this moment. Now I stared directly at my grandfather’s tranquil face, at the calloused hands which had so barbarically killed Cheri. At his bedside, I could feel his breath, see his aging chest rising and falling. I loathed him. I despised my grandpa with every fiber in my being. For all one knows, time is repeating itself, and I have transformed into the psychopath like my mother was. With no ounce of regret, I stared one last time at his evil features. However, no harm came to my grandfather. No, the soul leaving this imperfect world would not be his, but my own. The knife in my hands was turned on myself. Just as I would doze off into an endless sleep, the police would arrive to arrest my grandpa, who would seem undeniably guilty of murder. For death was too good for him, so he would rot in prison for the rest of his worthless life. As I began to fade away from existence, I was overwhelmed by a sense of serenity. My psychopathic brain satisfied by the malevolent vengeance I had obtained. Blinding light overtook my vision, and in my final, twisted moments, I was content.