I heard a door open in the flat above me and footsteps on the stairs. Careful not to step in any blood, I quickly left the flat. On autopilot, I picked up the elastic band and the note. But once again my rational brain saved me. Hit by the enormity of what I had just done. I hope it was recognition, understanding or acceptance. Well, I’m not sure what the final fleeting emotion or thought was. In the fraction of a second it took for the bullet to make contact with his head, I saw his hope turn to disbelief and then to terror and finally. He finished writing and looked up at me again. I took a few deep breaths, forced myself to be strong. The part of my brain still capable of being rational, knew that the noises were normal. Drunken shouts, cars, I even heard the sound of a siren. Noises from the street outside were making me nervous. The lipstick smudged and he was struggling to keep his hand steady. He was working against months, maybe years of ground-in grease and dirt. He started to form the letters it wasn’t easy on the cheap, grimy lino. He took the lipstick lid off and fiddled for a few seconds until he managed to twist the tip out enough to do the job. ‘You want me to write?’ he said, his voice little more than a rasping sound. Was he such a coward that he couldn’t even look into the eyes of his executioner? His gaze focused on my chin and I felt a surge of anger. He looked up at me again, but without making eye contact. His hands were shaking violently as he unfurled it and read. So he picked it up and removed the small piece of paper wrapped around it with an elastic band. The man smelt of sweat and urine and something else, something that I knew instinctively was the stench of fear, some primitive chemical signal sent out by his body. I had a strange sensation of time slowing down like every second lived lasted a minute. I was acutely aware of every sound and every movement. I’d read somewhere that during extreme stress all your senses go into hyper drive. I could smell his fear and I hadn’t expected that. Other than that in which it is published and without similar condition including thisĬondition being imposed on a subsequent purchaser. Nor can it be circulated in any form of binding or cover Written permission of the copyright owner.

No part of this publication may be stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted inĪny form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopy, recording or otherwise, without prior

The Book of Revenge by Linda Dunscombe