There's an unsavory quality I possess, (yes, I'm sure there's more than one), the desire to seek revenge, disguised in the form of something else.
Revenge is sneaky. It can disguise itself in martyrdom,
oh how I've been wronged...,
and it can show up as rage,
how dare this have happened to me...
The thing I've learnt about revenge is that it's almost never sweet like the saying goes, and really, it only feeds the rage and fuels the martyrdom.
There is not one thing suited for revenge, unless of course you're writing that opus you've carried around inside of you, because revenge always makes for good fiction.
That's really all revenge seems to be: a lot of fiction. It allows the person seeking retribution to be caught up in a lot of woulda, coulda, shoulda. There's also quite a bit of surmising and assuming and that translates to being in business that is not yours.
While this might not be any big revelation to you, it seems that my bag of tricks, the one I've relied on to placate my wounds for decades now, has a hole and my out-dated tools have seeped away.
It was time to replace them, I know that. But much like that worn out t-shirt with holes everywhere that you continue to wear until it literally falls apart, my bag of tricks were comforting, even if they ultimately were destructive.
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