Post by jane on Mar 2, 2007 21:13:00 GMT -5
Revenge
She crooned softly at the cooing child, who smiled up at her with that endearing innocence that breaks a mother’s heart. The little girl was her firstborn, and she named her Vivian Leigh. The child resembled the famed actress, at least as much as anyone could at three months old, with bright emerald-green eyes and ebony locks. To Angela, Vivian was the ideal child, and her husband, Daniel, was the perfect man, a Mr. Right if ever such a man existed.
Angela smiled icily at the bittersweet memory. There had been a time when she had truly wanted a baby, and felt blessed to have one. But the years had passed slowly, and Vivian soon replaced Angela in Daniel’s affections. He practically worshipped his daughter, giving in to her slightest whim, and she was always grateful and unspoiled. Meanwhile, Angela sat alone and ignored, watching the two with barely concealed hatred and envy.
When his plane had crashed last year, Angela felt no remorse. She had played the dutiful mother, holding Vivian as the girl sobbed, but shedding no tears of her own. Instead, she had secretly felt a wondrous freedom from her old life. There was only one string still attached, and the time had come to break free of it.
At fifteen, Vivian had lived up to her namesake and surpassed her in beauty. Her long cascading waves of ink-black hair complemented her fair skin and sparkling eyes in a way that made her the type of person who became the center of attention whenever she walked into a room. More than a pretty face, she was intelligent and athletic as well, making Angela want to scream with jealousy. Consumed with her resentment and hatred, Angela hatched a devious plan. She would deceive Vivian with her motherly affection, and when she least expected it, kill her. Once Vivian was dead, she could make a fresh start. She would move far away, find a new job, find a lover, do anything her heart desired. The simplicity of it all tickled Angela to death.
One dark and chilly night, when the wind howled with sorrow and rage, Angela made dinner as Vivian worked on her calculus homework at the kitchen table.
“How was school today?” inquired Angela with feigned interest, all he while peeling cucumbers for the salad with a sharp, glimmering knife. Her back turned to her daughter, she smiled with dark insanity. Tonight was the night.
“Fine,” replied Vivian in a level and easy tone, oblivious to her mother’s lunacy.
Angela turned to her, frowning. “Darling, what is that on your face?” she questioned in an innocent voice.
“What?”
“Go look for yourself, in the bathroom,” coaxed Angela. Laughing silently, she followed her there. The knife was still in her hand, offering a wicked promise.
“I don’t see anything.”
Angela didn’t answer, and after a stretch of silence, Vivian turned to face her mom with a sense of impending doom, her gorgeous eyes alight with fear.
“What’s the matter, dearie? Why are you looking at me like that? What a drama queen you are.”
Angela shut the bathroom door as Vivian stumbled backwards, trapped and nervous. Psychotically, Angela started towards her with an almost jaunty gait. Vivian began to cry, her voice pleading as she trembled in fright.
Angela set down her knife, pulled back her fist, and knocked her unconscious, body crumpling to the floor. Then she reached for her daughter’s limp hands, and slit the girl’s wrists with the knife. She watched the blood seep out of the cuts in silence, reveling in every spilt drop. She waited till the bleeding stopped and Vivian’s breathing came to a halt. Standing over the dead body, she glowed with the satisfaction of victory. She bent down, taking in the scent of fresh blood, and kissed her daughter’s forehead.
She had been about to close the staring eyes when she pulled back, uncertain. Vivian’s eyes were turning black. Then her body began to rise up, shuddering with renewed life.
Angela fumbled with the door, frantic. Behind her, Vivian laughed like a maniac.
The carcass emitted a wail of joy as she reached for Angela. Her grotesquely bloody hands grasped her mother’s throat, and held them there, rigid and tightly clenched, until the life was completely gone out of her. Then the corpse walked out of the bathroom, towards the welcoming shadows of the night.
*constructive criticism desired. i know the title and dialogue sucks.