Ronald and Justine
together, their arms around that tree, faces smooshed into the ragged bark. She
took her father’s gun and made them pay for how they treated her. They were
evil to the core. She held the gun to Ronald’s temple until he peed his pants
and cried like a baby, begging for his pitiful life. But she wouldn’t give him
what he wanted. The weight of his dead body after one efficient shot to the
brain dragged Justine to the ground with him. She deserved no mercy either.
Three well-placed bullets to the abdomen made her bleed out slowly. Billie
squatted and watched the life drain from Justine’s eyes. When she was gone and
her stare was as blank as the space between her ears, Billie smiled on the
inside.
Her father snorted sleep from his nose and rolled onto his
back. She pulled the door closed with a quiet click and tiptoed to the
bathroom. She fetched a dry washcloth from the cupboard, opened her bible, and
wiped dirt and water from each soiled page. She hummed and sang to herself.
Jesus loves me! This I know,
For the bible tells me so;
Little ones to Him belong;
They are weak, but He is strong.
She paused, the washcloth poised over Leviticus 24:20. She
was weak. She needed Jesus to hold her up. To show her the way.
Eye for eye. Tooth for tooth .
The words jumped from the page. That was God’s plan then,
wasn’t it? Justice. Swift and in-kind.
If only she were strong enough to deliver it.
Bat Head
NICK FRASER STOOD BETWEEN his
court-appointed attorney and Todd’s court-appointed attorney.
The old hag of a judge droned on and on about the impact of
their little shoplifting spree. It was no big deal, just a few grab-and-runs in
the mall. A victimless crime, a dare. Normal teenage bullshit. But apparently,
bullshit was a criminal offense. Didn’t help that the old bat kept eyeing up
their tats. Bitch was probably jealous. No one would want to see body ink on
her flabby ass.
His fucking old man wouldn’t even pop for a real lawyer.
It’s not like he didn’t have the cash, he was a stock market trader for fuck’s
sake. No, daddy had to teach his wayward son a lesson. What lesson was that,
exactly? That his father was a cheap-ass bastard who would rather let his son
go to jail than home?
“I realize this is a first offense for these …” the judge
looked at them over the rim of her reading glasses … “gentlemen.” She smirked
and looked at the docket. “But I get a vibe that if we don’t nip their
activities in the bud, soon they’ll be back in my courtroom for more serious
offenses. So, as a message to you and your peers, I sentence Nick Fraser and
Todd Williams to one month in juvenile detention.”
A month in juvey? For a few bucks worth of smokes and couple
of leather wrist cuffs?
Nick jerked his head at her. “We got no fucking peers,
lady.”
“You stupid little shit.” His father’s baritone boomed from
behind him.
Nick turned and smirked at his old man.
He took a swing at his son. Nick bobbed and weaved, just
like the old fart had shown him. Just like he did when he got arrested and his
father went for his throat. He got the “no kid of mine” speech, and the “how do
you think this makes your mother feel” talk. When Nick dismissed it all with a
flip of his middle finger, his father laid hands on him.
It hadn’t been the first time.
The judge slammed her gavel down. “That’s enough.” She
pointed her scraggly finger at Nick. “You just made it six weeks, young man.”
She shook her head. “The apple clearly doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Thursday the Twenty-eighth
BILLIE SHIFTED HER BUTT on
the hard plastic subway seat. She scratched her red pen across the newspaper
article, fixed poor grammar, corrected spelling. And altered the ending to
ensure the bad guys got away with nothing and the legal system was on the ball
for a change.
This had become her new routine, her latest obsession. With
each article she edited, each wrong she righted, each
together, their arms around that tree, faces smooshed into the ragged bark. She
took her father’s gun and made them pay for how they treated her. They were
evil to the core. She held the gun to Ronald’s temple until he peed his pants
and cried like a baby, begging for his pitiful life. But she wouldn’t give him
what he wanted. The weight of his dead body after one efficient shot to the
brain dragged Justine to the ground with him. She deserved no mercy either.
Three well-placed bullets to the abdomen made her bleed out slowly. Billie
squatted and watched the life drain from Justine’s eyes. When she was gone and
her stare was as blank as the space between her ears, Billie smiled on the
inside.
Her father snorted sleep from his nose and rolled onto his
back. She pulled the door closed with a quiet click and tiptoed to the
bathroom. She fetched a dry washcloth from the cupboard, opened her bible, and
wiped dirt and water from each soiled page. She hummed and sang to herself.
Jesus loves me! This I know,
For the bible tells me so;
Little ones to Him belong;
They are weak, but He is strong.
She paused, the washcloth poised over Leviticus 24:20. She
was weak. She needed Jesus to hold her up. To show her the way.
Eye for eye. Tooth for tooth .
The words jumped from the page. That was God’s plan then,
wasn’t it? Justice. Swift and in-kind.
If only she were strong enough to deliver it.
Bat Head
NICK FRASER STOOD BETWEEN his
court-appointed attorney and Todd’s court-appointed attorney.
The old hag of a judge droned on and on about the impact of
their little shoplifting spree. It was no big deal, just a few grab-and-runs in
the mall. A victimless crime, a dare. Normal teenage bullshit. But apparently,
bullshit was a criminal offense. Didn’t help that the old bat kept eyeing up
their tats. Bitch was probably jealous. No one would want to see body ink on
her flabby ass.
His fucking old man wouldn’t even pop for a real lawyer.
It’s not like he didn’t have the cash, he was a stock market trader for fuck’s
sake. No, daddy had to teach his wayward son a lesson. What lesson was that,
exactly? That his father was a cheap-ass bastard who would rather let his son
go to jail than home?
“I realize this is a first offense for these …” the judge
looked at them over the rim of her reading glasses … “gentlemen.” She smirked
and looked at the docket. “But I get a vibe that if we don’t nip their
activities in the bud, soon they’ll be back in my courtroom for more serious
offenses. So, as a message to you and your peers, I sentence Nick Fraser and
Todd Williams to one month in juvenile detention.”
A month in juvey? For a few bucks worth of smokes and couple
of leather wrist cuffs?
Nick jerked his head at her. “We got no fucking peers,
lady.”
“You stupid little shit.” His father’s baritone boomed from
behind him.
Nick turned and smirked at his old man.
He took a swing at his son. Nick bobbed and weaved, just
like the old fart had shown him. Just like he did when he got arrested and his
father went for his throat. He got the “no kid of mine” speech, and the “how do
you think this makes your mother feel” talk. When Nick dismissed it all with a
flip of his middle finger, his father laid hands on him.
It hadn’t been the first time.
The judge slammed her gavel down. “That’s enough.” She
pointed her scraggly finger at Nick. “You just made it six weeks, young man.”
She shook her head. “The apple clearly doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
Thursday the Twenty-eighth
BILLIE SHIFTED HER BUTT on
the hard plastic subway seat. She scratched her red pen across the newspaper
article, fixed poor grammar, corrected spelling. And altered the ending to
ensure the bad guys got away with nothing and the legal system was on the ball
for a change.
This had become her new routine, her latest obsession. With
each article she edited, each wrong she righted, each
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