Joan's Revenge.
Chiamaka Eze@chiamakaeze425179
11 months ago
The night's breeze blow and I feel myself shiver.
I move farther down the path and hear the crunch of dry leaves and snap of twigs underfoot.
Towering trees surround me as I keep walking and leaves obscure the sky above.
Finally making out the landmark, I run.
With a splash, I jump into the brook that cuts between the woods and the Preacher's chamber.
Slowly, I lie in its water and let the cool liquid soothe me to sleep while my pain and frustration flow through me into it.
When I awake with a sneeze, the sky is a pale orange.
I twist my neck around and find nobody around causing me to exhale with a hand to my chest.
I sit up and stare at my reflection in the water; my tired eyes stare back at me, my face, a horrid combination of joy and pain, has its hair pulled back in wet locks.
With the brightening sky, I make my way to the Preacher — no plan in mind.
The smell of freshly sawn wood greet me as I round the corner from behind the building and heaps of cut wood welcome me.
An axe is wedged into a stump in the middle of all the sawn wood and I can swear I hear it call me to it.
I pull it out and drag it lazily on the ground, the red cloth wrapped around its handle smooth on my palm.
I find my way up the stairs that lead to the Preacher's chamber and I climb, the axe scuffing the wooden board as I leave a trail of water on my path.
The early morning breeze carries no sound with it as it blows into the room and sways the curtains parted to one side of the windows.
With that, I settle on a stool behind the huge cupboard that faces the huge bed — where it all began.
There are no people in sight as I go on to shut my eyes, counting the thump of my heart.
Hesistant footsteps like people preparing to square off against each other filter their way to me and I hold my breath.
I hear the sound of clothes ruffling and it advances to loud smooching.
Every sound halts and I feel my brow furrow in my confusion.
“You look so damn good,” I hear.
“Y'think?” comes a female voice in response; it's sweet and smooth, almost child-like.
“Absolutely. Lie down!”
My eyelids flutter and snap wide open just as the bed deeps with a thump.
I recognise a voice and my jaw hurt from my severe teeth grinding.
I peek from behind the cupboard to find the Preacher lowering himself towards a nude girl on the bed.
The instant their lips lock in a kiss, I noiselessly rise.
Carrying the axe in one hand and the stool in the other, I make my way in front of the bed.
“You most definitely can do better than that,” I start. “Go right ahead and pour praises and promises on her like you did …” I hesitate, “me.”
My voice sounds unlike mine with its new hoarseness. They both gape at me and I use that to my advantage.
I hurl the stool at the Preacher's head and its impact sends him crumbling to the far corner of the room.
Shrill screams disrupt the serenity of the room and I look to see a shivering girl scrambling to cover herself with the sheets.
I pick her clothes and toss them to her. Dragging the axe my way through, I walk up to her.
“It's okay. I couldn't bring myself to hurt you,” I say.
“Su—sure,” she shivers less now as she whispers. “What do you want? With him?” she's all covered up as she asks.
“Nothing much,” I give a little smile as I say. “Could you give us a little privacy … to talk?”
She doesn't object. She jumps off the bed and scuttle across the room to the door.
“What is your name?” I ask, my back to her, before she's out the door.
“Miriam,” she says, voice weak.
“What did he promise you Miriam?”
“He said he would get my Pa back his job at the mill factory if I …” she trails off and I listen for her to continue.
She doesn't continue, neither does she leave.
“How old are you Miriam?”
“I'm only but sixteen Miss. He was going to be my first, I swear to God.”
My stomach flip and I shoot the Preacher the nastiest look I can summon.
He's blinking violently as he massages his head where the stool slammed into.
“Leave Miriam.” I hear her shuffle away and it takes every strength in me not to rip the Preacher open.
“We meet again,” he says and spares a grin, his perfect teeth on full display.
His head leans on the wall just as his entire body with legs stretched out.
I don't say anything, I just stare at him in disgust.
“You little witch!” he shouts. “I don't know how you escaped your punishment but when I lay my hands on you, you'll wish you never bothered. I swear to God,” he concludes through gritted teeth.
I let out a hoarse cackle in spite of myself.
“I'm pretty certain I'm your little penance from God. I am a witch alright but only because you made me one,” I say without any rush and wipe the last spread of smile on my face.
“Joan!” the Preacher bark. “I warn you now Joan, put down that weapon and leave while you still can,” his face holds no amusement now and I know my message has gotten to him.
“Even God can't save you now Preacher. See you in hell,” I whisper and without warning I swing the axe to his chest, welcoming the splatter of blood that follow.
I drag it down his abdomen and his body slide to the ground from its leaning position just as his insides spill out.
His face is squeezed into a frown, his mouth round open say nothing and his eyes focus on me unmoving.
Blood pool around his body and stream down to wrap my feet in warmth.
Now erect, I let the axe drop to his side with a thud as I stifle a yawn.
My stomach rumble and a yawn finally escape my mouth. I run my hand down my face and feel my cheek moisten.
Reflexively, I retrieve my hands from my face and my eyes meet the smeared redness on my palm.
I stare down slowly and my ragged smock is covered in bloody streaks.
Another yawn, deeper this time around, shake me out of my reverie.
I step out of the pool of blood and let myself out the door, leaving bloodied footprints in my path and not as much as a glimpse at the unmoving body.
There's another rumble in my stomach and all that clouds my mind is Helen's banana bread.
#Nirclestories
#fiction
#thriller
#storywriting
#contentwriting
𝐻𝑒𝑙𝑙𝑜 𝑐𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑤𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒!
𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑖𝑒𝑐𝑒 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑘𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑓 𝑱𝒐𝒂𝒏 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑺𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆 — 𝑚𝑦 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑟𝑡 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑦 𝑡𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑙𝑜𝑔𝑦.
𝐼 ℎ𝑜𝑝𝑒 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑒𝑛𝑗𝑜𝑦𝑒𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑.
𝑃𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑒 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑐𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑡, 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 𝑜𝑛 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑠 𝐼 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑛 𝑜𝑟 𝑜𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤.
𝐼𝑓 𝑦𝑜𝑢'𝑟𝑒 𝑛𝑒𝑤 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑔𝑒, ℎ𝑖𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑙𝑙𝑜𝑤 𝑏𝑢𝑡𝑡𝑜𝑛 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑖𝑛𝑣𝑖𝑡𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑝𝑎𝑔𝑒.
