THE SHINE JOURNAL

Flash Literature, Poetry, Art and Photography!

 

 

Catherine Trizzino

THE SWEETEST TASTE

 

When the last pieces of long blonde hair fell, Debra set the razor on the sink. She surveyed herself in the mirror. With no make-up and a buzz cut she could definitely pass for a teenage boy.

She had prayed for breasts for years, but now she was glad for her A-cup. They made her disguise more believable.

"Heading out for a while," she called to her mother.

"Hmmm."

Her mom didn't look up from her seat on the couch. She had been in a drunken daze since Tom was murdered. She couldn't blame her, his death shattered them all.

Debra grabbed a basketball from the garage and headed down the street. When she got closer to his house, she slowed down and began dribbling the ball. She knew he would be sitting on his porch. He
always was.

"Hi there," he called.

"Hi." Debra dropped her voice an octave and tipped the baseball cap up.

"New in the neighborhood? "

"Just visiting friends," she replied.

"Awfully hot out here. Thirsty?"

"Um, sure," she said. Her palms began to sweat.

"Come on in," he said. "I collect pinball games. Want to see?"

"Sure," Debra said following him into the basement.

"Lemme just get you a drink from the fridge," he said.

When he turned, Debra seized her opportunity. She pulled the knife from her pocket and drove it into his back.

"You raped and murdered my brother, you sicko," she screamed. "The cops couldn't prove it, but I know it was you."

"Good luck in Hell," she said as she ran out the door.

Debra knew she would pay for what she did and knew it wouldn't bring her brother back, but for the moment, revenge was the sweetest thing she had ever tasted. 

©Catherine Trizzino


BIO: Catherine Trizzino lives in Maryland. She loves writing fiction and has a special affinity for short fiction. Her stories can be found in Boston Literary Magazine, Pen Pricks, Flash Shot, Short Humour, and in upcoming editions of Apollo's Lyre and Alien Skin Magazine.

MOTIVATION: This story was in response to a writing group prompt about revenge. "I imagined the internal conflict that would come from avenging a loved ones murder."