Ms. Rhythm's Revenge

(to be read ALOUD)

Ms. Rhythm's Revenge

She came in all twinge and cringe - and without a sound she took me down.

I was a thundercloud then, a heavy shroud, but I was dry inside, chased by hell's hounds, and she was proud; she froze me, shattered me with no warning somehow. It was a crowning act of glorious mourning, it was low-down and crazytown, all sugar, corrosion and clowns, it was all around and I was picked apart, eaten by her crows; it was a massacre, it was art: my limbs crippled, my heart ripped from its beating start; I was a quaking termite mound, aching to shiver, collapse and drown. I got hit hard, I admit - I was eyes closed, head down; I was beaten into the ground, I got raped all night in my wedding gown.

I woke, paralysed and screaming, disbelieving, all fume and steaming, wasn't sure I wasn't dreaming, robbed of all meaning, leaning barely on the railing, ailing – sure, you could call it that. I was wailing wild jazzy scat; once I was a cool cat, yeah, but I was absolutely nowhere now – that was right where I was at.

But Bobby pulled me off the mat.

Bobby yeah, he saw me bleeding, grabbed me cuff and sleeve, taught me to breathe again, stand up, smile, say cheese again. He dried me, tried to guide me, had me fed, clothed, made me realize where I was, to remind me of the prize; I sighed, I cried sure Bobby, I am finally alive. But I lied.

I had long put down my sword. I was drilled and bored, I was bull-gored, I was wiped out, humiliated, had lost the war, was hiding from the Lord; and so I slept for two years more. But Bobby waited patient at my door.

For two whole years he heard me snore.

Then Bobby got mad, had enough, shook me, kicked me raw, beat me up and worse, pity-time was over - his voice mammoth, mighty and terse. Bobby told exquisite truths, he knew just how to hurt. I shivered, wasn't ready, the furthest thing from rock-steady, I was all dread and leaden, couldn't fathom heaven, forgetting every reason - it was simply not my season. Bobby had to show me, teach me how to show her, to really get to know her, to learn her tricks, that Jezebel, that witch, to smack her and run right over her, to chop her up and rip her, cast her in a ditch. But I was so slow; I walked with a limp, I was an easy target for that bitch.

I saw her the next day in an alleyway, and my hand went straight to my switch. I took a good look at her, tried my hardest not to retch, I felt a sharp sliver of fear, and a shiver, like an excruciating kiss. When revenge is next to ruin, you must be careful which is which; you must make certain what to pick.

She was all talons, tar and fangs, garlands of strung-up claws, tusks, snake-scales, a man-eating vulture squat on her shoulders, she was Medusa and Delilah, Mistress of Hades, crushing boulders with her teeth. She hissed and spat and laughed; it was her rules every time, man, always her kind of scat. She wanted blood; I should have run, but she caught up with me every other time; I should have brought my gun...

(to be continued)

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