| General Fiction posted October 27, 2021 |
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A night raid mission for revenge on the mistress.
Best Served Cold
by LisaMay
Now that she was lying face down on Cindy’s back lawn, crawling commando-style through the dark towards her house, Alison was encountering every weed Cindy had neglected to remove. Too busy screwing my husband. Alison gritted her teeth and suppressed a squeak as another prickle stabbed her face.
She hadn’t realised Cindy was such a lazy gardener; she seemed to exude perfection in everything else – she had taste, she was pretty, toned, sexy, popular. Alison’s husband, Greg, a builder, had come under Cindy’s spell when he’d erected a garden gazebo for her. His erections hadn’t stopped since.
I’ll get my revenge. She must be punished. I’ll… I’ll… I’ll…
In reality, Alison didn’t have a plan. She only knew she was steaming mad and needed to demonstrate to herself, at least, she wasn’t the doormat her husband took her for, or the passive, ignorant and ineffective little wifey that Cindy obviously thought she was.
Breaking into her rival’s house was the first step. It was maddening that Cindy lived so close by in the same suburb, but it had made it easier for Alison to spy on her movements. When Greg said he was going to visit a sick mate for a few hours after work on Tuesday, Alison knew Cindy would be at the gym on that evening also. As for her plan of attack, Alison was sure she’d find a way to wreak maximum havoc once inside Cindy’s house, with plenty of things to smash, scissor to pieces, set on fire, or steal.
At last she’d wriggled across the weedy lawn and reached the shadows of the villa. A streetlight shone on the painted wooden boards of the house above her, pretty-as-a-picture in dusky lavender. Alison shivered in the chilly darkness while she picked thistles from her face.
Nearby, a low door was set into the basement of the house. Alison pushed it open and found herself in a small room beneath the floorboards. Shelves held tins of paint, jars of nuts and bolts, and gardening equipment, including a spray bottle of weedkiller.
Alison suddenly went rigid, recognising her husband’s voice overhead. Greg was murmuring something to Cindy. Damn! Both of them were there, spoiling her revenge sortie, but making her even more intent on committing it. She felt like bursting through the floorboards like an avenging demon. She heard Greg say something about a dinner reservation, then their voices faded, a door shut, there were crunching footsteps on a gravel path, a gate clicked, car doors opened and closed, then the vehicle was driven away.
Alison let out her breath. The coast was clear. Let battle commence! In a resumed rage, she seized the bottle of weedkiller, deciding what to spray-write across the lawn. Husband-stealer might take too long; she settled for Slut.
The deed done, she tossed the bottle aside then looked for a way to gain entry. Aha! A window not shut properly. A quick heave upwards, a leg over the sill, and she was in! Fear, outrage, and excitement had given her strength. Her eyes flashed sparks. She felt powerful, charged through with righteous indignation, ready to demolish her opponent’s possessions.
Oh, but they were so pretty. It was such a lovely home, with nice things arranged so cheerfully. Alison walked into the kitchen. It was beautiful: flowers in a vase, colourful floor mat, fruit in a bowl, quaint ornaments… how could she possibly ruin this?
Alison felt her resolve slipping away. Cindy was right. She was passive and ineffective. Or maybe she was too accommodating for her own good. Greg was the one she should really be punishing. Just then she heard a car arriving outside. Determined to do some act of revenge before she left, however petty, Alison grabbed a decorated tin box off the kitchen counter, then fled to the window and made a quick exit.
Back in the safety of her own home, Alison lifted the lid of the tin box to see what treasure she had stolen on her revenge mission. Inside were a few packets of flavouring for a soup mix: Gazpacho Soup. Instructions: Best served cold…
Best Served Cold writing prompt entry
Now that she was lying face down on Cindy’s back lawn, crawling commando-style through the dark towards her house, Alison was encountering every weed Cindy had neglected to remove. Too busy screwing my husband. Alison gritted her teeth and suppressed a squeak as another prickle stabbed her face.
She hadn’t realised Cindy was such a lazy gardener; she seemed to exude perfection in everything else – she had taste, she was pretty, toned, sexy, popular. Alison’s husband, Greg, a builder, had come under Cindy’s spell when he’d erected a garden gazebo for her. His erections hadn’t stopped since.
I’ll get my revenge. She must be punished. I’ll… I’ll… I’ll…
In reality, Alison didn’t have a plan. She only knew she was steaming mad and needed to demonstrate to herself, at least, she wasn’t the doormat her husband took her for, or the passive, ignorant and ineffective little wifey that Cindy obviously thought she was.
Breaking into her rival’s house was the first step. It was maddening that Cindy lived so close by in the same suburb, but it had made it easier for Alison to spy on her movements. When Greg said he was going to visit a sick mate for a few hours after work on Tuesday, Alison knew Cindy would be at the gym on that evening also. As for her plan of attack, Alison was sure she’d find a way to wreak maximum havoc once inside Cindy’s house, with plenty of things to smash, scissor to pieces, set on fire, or steal.
At last she’d wriggled across the weedy lawn and reached the shadows of the villa. A streetlight shone on the painted wooden boards of the house above her, pretty-as-a-picture in dusky lavender. Alison shivered in the chilly darkness while she picked thistles from her face.
Nearby, a low door was set into the basement of the house. Alison pushed it open and found herself in a small room beneath the floorboards. Shelves held tins of paint, jars of nuts and bolts, and gardening equipment, including a spray bottle of weedkiller.
Alison suddenly went rigid, recognising her husband’s voice overhead. Greg was murmuring something to Cindy. Damn! Both of them were there, spoiling her revenge sortie, but making her even more intent on committing it. She felt like bursting through the floorboards like an avenging demon. She heard Greg say something about a dinner reservation, then their voices faded, a door shut, there were crunching footsteps on a gravel path, a gate clicked, car doors opened and closed, then the vehicle was driven away.
Alison let out her breath. The coast was clear. Let battle commence! In a resumed rage, she seized the bottle of weedkiller, deciding what to spray-write across the lawn. Husband-stealer might take too long; she settled for Slut.
The deed done, she tossed the bottle aside then looked for a way to gain entry. Aha! A window not shut properly. A quick heave upwards, a leg over the sill, and she was in! Fear, outrage, and excitement had given her strength. Her eyes flashed sparks. She felt powerful, charged through with righteous indignation, ready to demolish her opponent’s possessions.
Oh, but they were so pretty. It was such a lovely home, with nice things arranged so cheerfully. Alison walked into the kitchen. It was beautiful: flowers in a vase, colourful floor mat, fruit in a bowl, quaint ornaments… how could she possibly ruin this?
Alison felt her resolve slipping away. Cindy was right. She was passive and ineffective. Or maybe she was too accommodating for her own good. Greg was the one she should really be punishing. Just then she heard a car arriving outside. Determined to do some act of revenge before she left, however petty, Alison grabbed a decorated tin box off the kitchen counter, then fled to the window and made a quick exit.
Back in the safety of her own home, Alison lifted the lid of the tin box to see what treasure she had stolen on her revenge mission. Inside were a few packets of flavouring for a soup mix: Gazpacho Soup. Instructions: Best served cold…
She hadn’t realised Cindy was such a lazy gardener; she seemed to exude perfection in everything else – she had taste, she was pretty, toned, sexy, popular. Alison’s husband, Greg, a builder, had come under Cindy’s spell when he’d erected a garden gazebo for her. His erections hadn’t stopped since.
I’ll get my revenge. She must be punished. I’ll… I’ll… I’ll…
In reality, Alison didn’t have a plan. She only knew she was steaming mad and needed to demonstrate to herself, at least, she wasn’t the doormat her husband took her for, or the passive, ignorant and ineffective little wifey that Cindy obviously thought she was.
Breaking into her rival’s house was the first step. It was maddening that Cindy lived so close by in the same suburb, but it had made it easier for Alison to spy on her movements. When Greg said he was going to visit a sick mate for a few hours after work on Tuesday, Alison knew Cindy would be at the gym on that evening also. As for her plan of attack, Alison was sure she’d find a way to wreak maximum havoc once inside Cindy’s house, with plenty of things to smash, scissor to pieces, set on fire, or steal.
At last she’d wriggled across the weedy lawn and reached the shadows of the villa. A streetlight shone on the painted wooden boards of the house above her, pretty-as-a-picture in dusky lavender. Alison shivered in the chilly darkness while she picked thistles from her face.
Nearby, a low door was set into the basement of the house. Alison pushed it open and found herself in a small room beneath the floorboards. Shelves held tins of paint, jars of nuts and bolts, and gardening equipment, including a spray bottle of weedkiller.
Alison suddenly went rigid, recognising her husband’s voice overhead. Greg was murmuring something to Cindy. Damn! Both of them were there, spoiling her revenge sortie, but making her even more intent on committing it. She felt like bursting through the floorboards like an avenging demon. She heard Greg say something about a dinner reservation, then their voices faded, a door shut, there were crunching footsteps on a gravel path, a gate clicked, car doors opened and closed, then the vehicle was driven away.
Alison let out her breath. The coast was clear. Let battle commence! In a resumed rage, she seized the bottle of weedkiller, deciding what to spray-write across the lawn. Husband-stealer might take too long; she settled for Slut.
The deed done, she tossed the bottle aside then looked for a way to gain entry. Aha! A window not shut properly. A quick heave upwards, a leg over the sill, and she was in! Fear, outrage, and excitement had given her strength. Her eyes flashed sparks. She felt powerful, charged through with righteous indignation, ready to demolish her opponent’s possessions.
Oh, but they were so pretty. It was such a lovely home, with nice things arranged so cheerfully. Alison walked into the kitchen. It was beautiful: flowers in a vase, colourful floor mat, fruit in a bowl, quaint ornaments… how could she possibly ruin this?
Alison felt her resolve slipping away. Cindy was right. She was passive and ineffective. Or maybe she was too accommodating for her own good. Greg was the one she should really be punishing. Just then she heard a car arriving outside. Determined to do some act of revenge before she left, however petty, Alison grabbed a decorated tin box off the kitchen counter, then fled to the window and made a quick exit.
Back in the safety of her own home, Alison lifted the lid of the tin box to see what treasure she had stolen on her revenge mission. Inside were a few packets of flavouring for a soup mix: Gazpacho Soup. Instructions: Best served cold…
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Writing Prompt Write a flash fiction tale of REVENGE. Maximum 800 words. This can be in any genre and can range from a light-hearted prank to a murderous act of vengeance. Clever twists and irony encouraged. |
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