Bittersweet Revenge

It was cold by the river, but pretty.

He liked cold weather. He like the sharpness of the wind that cut right through him. He liked the heaviness of it in his nostrils and against his forehead.

The morning sun was still low over the trees. Droplets of cold water cling to his straight brown hair. The wind past him, then calmed.

The river was wider than he had imagined. He liked the cold, trickling sound it made as it moved past. Standing in the tall grass, he stared motionless into the bubbling brown waters for a long time, his hands were inside his jeans pockets.

The wind swirled and returned to blow the grass. It felt good. Good against his face too. His face was burning, burning. He needed the wind to cool it.

The river was called Niba Chuan. That's what the sign had said. What did it mean? Muddy river?

He chuckled to himself.

Across the river, wooded cliffs rose. He could see a road winding up them to the top. River Road it was called. He had read his map, studied it carefully.

He pulled off the wool cap and put it into his jacket pocket. It was keeping him warm. He wanted to feel cold. Especially his face. His face always felt so hot, as if he were under a burning sun, as if he were sunburned. The air was so cold, so sharp. But still it didn't cool his face.

He started walking again through the tall grass, his boots making squishing sounds in the soft ground.

Taipei wasn't a bad town, he decided.

He'd made a good choice.

It was a pretty town, for the most part. And the river was nice.

He liked looking at the big houses in Bei Shanqiu with their big, clean front yards, their tall and perfectly trimmed grasses. Of course, he could never fit in there. He didn't belong, and he knew it.

He liked the Old Village too, a more friendly part of Taipei, more comfortable, more familiar.

Not a bad town, he thought, picking up a large, flat pebble from near the shore and trying to skip it across the flowing water.

It sank out of sight.

Of course, there were girls in this town who needed to die.

Girls just like you, Mom, he thought, putting his hands back into his pockets.

He felt the anger begin again.

It always started in his stomach, then worked it's way up his back until his neck muscles tightened. Then his head started to beat, beat with pain, beat from the anger.

And his face felt so hot, so burning hot.

The cold, trickling water, the cool, gusting wind, the damp, swaying grass at his feet--- none of it help.

None of it could stop the anger once it started.

And once he started thinking about his mother, the anger always came.

Some girls need to die, Mom. Just like you.

He had felt the anger for so many years. Since he was four.

Since his parents divorced.

Since his mother went away and took his big sister to live with her.

Since he was left with his father.

You knew what you were doing, Mom, he thought, taking another stone into the river, with all his might, with all his anger.

You knew what you were doing.

You knew that Dad got drunk every night. You knew that Dad beat me when he got drunk.

But still you took my sister and ran. You left me behind. You left me with--- him.

Every night I thought of you, Mom.

Every beating, I thought of you.

I thought only of you. And of my revenge.

I'm going to pay you back, Mom. I've already started to pay you back. In every town I visit.

If only I could find you. If only I knew where you lived.

A white kitten suddenly appeared at the edge of the trees. It stared across the grass at him with bold, black eyes.

"Here, kitty," he called,bending down and motioning with his hands. "Here, kitty, kitty."

The kitten stared back, tilted it's head, but didn't move.

Sometimes I get my revenge, Mom, he thought, squatting down, motioning to the white kitten. And it makes me feel better.

It makes me feel better to kill.

For a while.

"Here, kitty, kitty." he made clicking noises with his tongue and teeth. "Come here, kitty."

It has to be the right girl, Mom.

It can't be any girl. It has to be the right girl.

And I've found the right girl here in Taipei.

She's just like you, Mom.

At least that's how I remember you.

I don't have a picture of you. You never sent me a picture. Or a letter.

You just left me behind to be beaten every night.

But I think she looks like you. She's kinda chubby.

She's not real pretty, but she's okay.

And she seems so shy.

So perfectly shy.

She's right, Mom. I think she's just right.

When the anger comes again, I think she'll do fine.

"Here, kitty, kitty," he called.

The kitten took a small step toward him mewing softly. Then another step. Then another, staring at him, studying him.

"Here, kitty, kitty," he said in a soft, high voice. "I won't make you suffer long."

He picked up the kitten by the neck and strangled it.