Lex Talionis
by Lee Carrick
Genre: Drama
Swearwords: Some strong ones; not for the squeamish!
Description: A story of loss, revenge and the lengths family members will go to when pushed.
_____________________________________________________________________
The warm, fresh ejaculation dripped from Abi and crept silently down the inside of her thigh, leaving a trail of creamy white resin. She was still hunched over the steel pole that partitioned the path and the shrubs. The pain from the scrapes on her knees, which were still rested on the cold, damp concrete walkway, became apparent as she lifted her body from the pole, her ribs creaked and she winced from the pain; she held them with her hands leaving paw prints on her white vest with the soil on her muddied fingers. Standing up and facing the exit of the park that led back to Dean Road and the comfort of her mother’s house; pulling down her skirt and pulling her knickers back over her crotch, she headed for the gate. The bright orange light from the street lamp outside the exit warmed her face as she walked past it, she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it but it seemed the street lamp had taken the figure of her father (six months dead). Regardless, he made her feel safe. Passing over the metro bridge, past the nursery that had once been a local police station but had long since been sold by the local council; bought and converted into a private kindergarten, and down on to Dean road. The small council flats on one side of Dean Road were dwarfed and left in the darkness of shadows by the high rise flats on the other side; local residents had nicknamed the high rises ‘heroin towers’. Abi lived in a small flat with her mum and older brother; her bedroom faced the high rises. As she reached the door of the flat she realised that her wrist felt very naked; she pulled up the sleeve of her jacket which revealed white skin outlined by sun bed darkened skin, her watch was gone. Her gran had bought her a silver, diamante encrusted DKNY watch for her sixteenth birthday six months previously, it had been her favourite present. She put her key in the door, opened it and stepped into the flat.
It was Wednesday night; Maria sat contentedly on her brown leather couch in the living room of her flat. The couch was worn, cigarette burned and awash with memories, it had long since stopped returning to its original form, when she sat up the outline of her backside remained. The heat from her cup of tea was rising over her face as she brought the drink to her lips. Sitting the cup down on the trodden down, yellowed carpet and picking up her box of Regal King-size cigarettes, taking one from the box and lighting it, drawing the satisfying smoke into her lungs just as the opening theme tune from Eastenders bellowed form her television. Maria loved the soaps and would become easily annoyed if either of her children would interrupt her when they were on. Moreover, she would encourage them to not be in the house at all between the hours of seven and eight thirty pm, this was her time. She would often look over to the reclining chair in the corner of the room where her husband had once spent his evenings; she missed the repetition of his consistent, monotonous moaning. “Fucking Eastenders again, man, I don’t know why you watch this shite,” he would say repeatedly. What she would pay to hear him say that now. It had been six months since he’d passed but she could still smell the staleness of his feet after he would take his steel toed capped boots off after a day at work. Maria missed him but the smell brought with it a modicum of comfort.
Billy Mitchell appeared on her television screen at the same time she heard the front door open and then close; she couldn’t believe it, was a couple of hours to herself too much to ask. She knew it was Abi, she could hear her high heels stamping on the carpet-less hallway floor. “What you doing back, you’ve only been out a couple of hours,” she shouted angrily through the closed sitting room door.
Christopher pulled up to the front of the flat in his work van; the van still displayed the logo Davis and Son, but he’d been working alone for a while now. As he approached he could see his sister opening the front door, he beeped the horn of the van expecting Abi to turn around and keep the door open for him; he would need to carry his tool box and equipment from the back of the van. When she didn’t Christopher became angry, what an ignorant bitch, he thought. He would complain to her that she walked around in a world of her own and this was just another example of her selfishness, she probably heard him but couldn’t be bothered to wait in the November cold. It started to drizzle as he unloaded his tools, frustrating him even more. He opened the front door just as Abi was opening the living room door directly in front of him, her back was turned to him but he could see that something wasn’t quite right.
The door to Marid’s flat in the high rises was stiff from the cold, and he had to use his shoulder to force it open as he scurried in. The paranoia and fear were making him dizzy, he walked into his bedroom and collapsed on his bed, his heart thumping through his chest, still pumping blood round his tired body; he was overweight and unfit and running back from the park had nearly caused him to vomit.
Christopher, Maria and Abi stood in the sitting room, facing each other. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the reality hit them all like mortars fired into a crowded trench. Abi collapsed on the floor of the living room, Maria, her mother, lay over her and held her tight to her chest. Christopher picked up his tool box and headed for the door. He knew what had to be done, if his dad were here he would have done the same. He stormed fiercely over the road and towards the high rises, scaled the stairs to where he knew Marid lived. Once he’d reached Marid’s front door he took a hammer from his tool box. He knocked, stood to the side where he could not be seen through the peep hole and readied the hammer.H
Marid’s heartbeat had slowed to a more normal rate, he felt calm, the half hour he had spent on the bed had allowed him to collect his thoughts and his body to recover from the over exertion it had experienced. He knew he would be ok, everyone knew that Abi was an attention seeking slut, they would never believe anything that she said anyway, she was sixteen, a child with an overactive imagination. He was twenty four and had never been in trouble in his life. “I’ll be ok, I’ll be ok, I’ll be ok,” he kept repeating it to himself over and over aloud but in a whisper. His self assuring was interrupted by a knock on the door; at first he was worried but consoled himself in that it was too soon for it to be the police, it would take them at least a couple of hours by the time Abi got home, called the police, the police arriving from town and then interviewing her. It was obviously one of his friends, he thought that having someone with him in the house, seeing him calm, would make a good alibi if ever he had to talk to the police. He casually walked to the front door, opened and stepped onto the landing of the flats. He felt a sharp blow to the side of the head, and for a split second wondered what it was. As he fell to the floor his eyes caught the raged stare of Christopher’s. He fell unconscious.
Christopher looked down at Marid. He was in a hypnotic daze for a few seconds, but the realisation that he needed to get Marid back into the house before anyone saw them awakened his senses. He stepped over Marid into the door way and dragged Marid back into the house by his legs, his face dragging over the step and across the wooden floor of his high rise. He lay Marid face down in his cramped living room. He felt a sense of fear and trepidation. Maybe this was enough; maybe that hurting him physically and then calling the police was enough punishment. He headed to the window and looked out in an attempt to form some kind of clarity in his clouded mind. A light came on in a room across the road; it was Abi’s bedroom. She lay on the bed, Maria his mother was stroking her hair as she cried into the pillow, he could hear the deafening sound of her cries in his heart. He had promised his dad, on his death bed, that he would look after her and he had failed. He knew what he had to do. His dad would have done the same.
The orange light from the street lamp outside his window burned his eyes as he opened them, a dull pain in the side of his head was excruciating. His body was cold, naked against the hard wooden floor. Marid was face down and unable to move. He tried and a lightning bolt of sharp, prolonged pain shot from his hands and feet, he tried to scream but the noise was muffled by the gag in his mouth. He couldn’t see anyone else in the room. His body started to shake violently with fear causing more pain in his extremities. He couldn’t distinguish the thoughts in his head from the screams in his soul. He knew Christopher was going to kill him and he was powerless to stop him.
Christopher had stripped Marid of all his clothes, hurriedly, before he regained consciousness. He had placed Marid on the floor face down, his head under the radiator so that he had somewhere to tie his arms. The flat looked like it had been robbed after he had finished searching for something to tie Marid up with. He found nothing. The tool box he had brought was on the floor beside Marid. Chris took four three inch nails from the box. He placed Marid’s left hand flat against the wooden floor and drove a nail clean through his hand and the wood beneath it. Then the same with the right hand. He moved to Marid’s naked legs and spread them as wide as the room would allow. He drove two nails into each of his feet, impaling him on the floor and unable to move. He stood back and looked down at the Christ-like monument he had created on the floor, and felt nothing.
Tears from Marid’s brown eyes had darkened the wood on his floor and soaked the gag in his mouth. The skin around his crotch burnt from the acidity of the urine his body had evacuated.
Christopher looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom. “My dad would do the same,” he said confidently. He could hear the muffled sound of cries coming from the living room; Marid was awake. He picked up the lime green shower gel from the side of the bath and headed back into the living room. He knelt down in the gap between Marid’s legs; took the hammer and drove the handle into his arsehole. It wouldn’t go in at first, he had to push with both hands to move the hammer around; eventually it slipped in about two or three inches. He pushed the hammer in and out, in and out of Marid, until blood started trickle from his stretched anus. Marid cried out but the gag was doing its job and the cries were quiet. Christopher continued for two three minutes each drive of the hammer was harder and deeper than the last. The trickle of blood had turned into a stream and Christopher pulled the hammer out of Marid’s anus. The handle was bloodied and covered in faeces; the hole it had created looked like exit point of a bullet wound. But Christopher knew this wasn’t enough, he knew what had to be done because his dad would have done the same. He undid his belt buckle and removed his pants; pouring the shower gel onto his hand he rubbed the cold sticky liquid over his penis until it was erect. He knelt over Marid and forced his penis into the gaping wound that was his arsehole, driving it deep until his crotch met Marid’s buttocks. He lay over him and put his mouth to Marid’s ear, and whispered, “My dad always said......an eye for an eye.”
Swearwords: Some strong ones; not for the squeamish!
Description: A story of loss, revenge and the lengths family members will go to when pushed.
_____________________________________________________________________
The warm, fresh ejaculation dripped from Abi and crept silently down the inside of her thigh, leaving a trail of creamy white resin. She was still hunched over the steel pole that partitioned the path and the shrubs. The pain from the scrapes on her knees, which were still rested on the cold, damp concrete walkway, became apparent as she lifted her body from the pole, her ribs creaked and she winced from the pain; she held them with her hands leaving paw prints on her white vest with the soil on her muddied fingers. Standing up and facing the exit of the park that led back to Dean Road and the comfort of her mother’s house; pulling down her skirt and pulling her knickers back over her crotch, she headed for the gate. The bright orange light from the street lamp outside the exit warmed her face as she walked past it, she wasn’t sure if she’d imagined it but it seemed the street lamp had taken the figure of her father (six months dead). Regardless, he made her feel safe. Passing over the metro bridge, past the nursery that had once been a local police station but had long since been sold by the local council; bought and converted into a private kindergarten, and down on to Dean road. The small council flats on one side of Dean Road were dwarfed and left in the darkness of shadows by the high rise flats on the other side; local residents had nicknamed the high rises ‘heroin towers’. Abi lived in a small flat with her mum and older brother; her bedroom faced the high rises. As she reached the door of the flat she realised that her wrist felt very naked; she pulled up the sleeve of her jacket which revealed white skin outlined by sun bed darkened skin, her watch was gone. Her gran had bought her a silver, diamante encrusted DKNY watch for her sixteenth birthday six months previously, it had been her favourite present. She put her key in the door, opened it and stepped into the flat.
It was Wednesday night; Maria sat contentedly on her brown leather couch in the living room of her flat. The couch was worn, cigarette burned and awash with memories, it had long since stopped returning to its original form, when she sat up the outline of her backside remained. The heat from her cup of tea was rising over her face as she brought the drink to her lips. Sitting the cup down on the trodden down, yellowed carpet and picking up her box of Regal King-size cigarettes, taking one from the box and lighting it, drawing the satisfying smoke into her lungs just as the opening theme tune from Eastenders bellowed form her television. Maria loved the soaps and would become easily annoyed if either of her children would interrupt her when they were on. Moreover, she would encourage them to not be in the house at all between the hours of seven and eight thirty pm, this was her time. She would often look over to the reclining chair in the corner of the room where her husband had once spent his evenings; she missed the repetition of his consistent, monotonous moaning. “Fucking Eastenders again, man, I don’t know why you watch this shite,” he would say repeatedly. What she would pay to hear him say that now. It had been six months since he’d passed but she could still smell the staleness of his feet after he would take his steel toed capped boots off after a day at work. Maria missed him but the smell brought with it a modicum of comfort.
Billy Mitchell appeared on her television screen at the same time she heard the front door open and then close; she couldn’t believe it, was a couple of hours to herself too much to ask. She knew it was Abi, she could hear her high heels stamping on the carpet-less hallway floor. “What you doing back, you’ve only been out a couple of hours,” she shouted angrily through the closed sitting room door.
Christopher pulled up to the front of the flat in his work van; the van still displayed the logo Davis and Son, but he’d been working alone for a while now. As he approached he could see his sister opening the front door, he beeped the horn of the van expecting Abi to turn around and keep the door open for him; he would need to carry his tool box and equipment from the back of the van. When she didn’t Christopher became angry, what an ignorant bitch, he thought. He would complain to her that she walked around in a world of her own and this was just another example of her selfishness, she probably heard him but couldn’t be bothered to wait in the November cold. It started to drizzle as he unloaded his tools, frustrating him even more. He opened the front door just as Abi was opening the living room door directly in front of him, her back was turned to him but he could see that something wasn’t quite right.
The door to Marid’s flat in the high rises was stiff from the cold, and he had to use his shoulder to force it open as he scurried in. The paranoia and fear were making him dizzy, he walked into his bedroom and collapsed on his bed, his heart thumping through his chest, still pumping blood round his tired body; he was overweight and unfit and running back from the park had nearly caused him to vomit.
Christopher, Maria and Abi stood in the sitting room, facing each other. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as the reality hit them all like mortars fired into a crowded trench. Abi collapsed on the floor of the living room, Maria, her mother, lay over her and held her tight to her chest. Christopher picked up his tool box and headed for the door. He knew what had to be done, if his dad were here he would have done the same. He stormed fiercely over the road and towards the high rises, scaled the stairs to where he knew Marid lived. Once he’d reached Marid’s front door he took a hammer from his tool box. He knocked, stood to the side where he could not be seen through the peep hole and readied the hammer.H
Marid’s heartbeat had slowed to a more normal rate, he felt calm, the half hour he had spent on the bed had allowed him to collect his thoughts and his body to recover from the over exertion it had experienced. He knew he would be ok, everyone knew that Abi was an attention seeking slut, they would never believe anything that she said anyway, she was sixteen, a child with an overactive imagination. He was twenty four and had never been in trouble in his life. “I’ll be ok, I’ll be ok, I’ll be ok,” he kept repeating it to himself over and over aloud but in a whisper. His self assuring was interrupted by a knock on the door; at first he was worried but consoled himself in that it was too soon for it to be the police, it would take them at least a couple of hours by the time Abi got home, called the police, the police arriving from town and then interviewing her. It was obviously one of his friends, he thought that having someone with him in the house, seeing him calm, would make a good alibi if ever he had to talk to the police. He casually walked to the front door, opened and stepped onto the landing of the flats. He felt a sharp blow to the side of the head, and for a split second wondered what it was. As he fell to the floor his eyes caught the raged stare of Christopher’s. He fell unconscious.
Christopher looked down at Marid. He was in a hypnotic daze for a few seconds, but the realisation that he needed to get Marid back into the house before anyone saw them awakened his senses. He stepped over Marid into the door way and dragged Marid back into the house by his legs, his face dragging over the step and across the wooden floor of his high rise. He lay Marid face down in his cramped living room. He felt a sense of fear and trepidation. Maybe this was enough; maybe that hurting him physically and then calling the police was enough punishment. He headed to the window and looked out in an attempt to form some kind of clarity in his clouded mind. A light came on in a room across the road; it was Abi’s bedroom. She lay on the bed, Maria his mother was stroking her hair as she cried into the pillow, he could hear the deafening sound of her cries in his heart. He had promised his dad, on his death bed, that he would look after her and he had failed. He knew what he had to do. His dad would have done the same.
The orange light from the street lamp outside his window burned his eyes as he opened them, a dull pain in the side of his head was excruciating. His body was cold, naked against the hard wooden floor. Marid was face down and unable to move. He tried and a lightning bolt of sharp, prolonged pain shot from his hands and feet, he tried to scream but the noise was muffled by the gag in his mouth. He couldn’t see anyone else in the room. His body started to shake violently with fear causing more pain in his extremities. He couldn’t distinguish the thoughts in his head from the screams in his soul. He knew Christopher was going to kill him and he was powerless to stop him.
Christopher had stripped Marid of all his clothes, hurriedly, before he regained consciousness. He had placed Marid on the floor face down, his head under the radiator so that he had somewhere to tie his arms. The flat looked like it had been robbed after he had finished searching for something to tie Marid up with. He found nothing. The tool box he had brought was on the floor beside Marid. Chris took four three inch nails from the box. He placed Marid’s left hand flat against the wooden floor and drove a nail clean through his hand and the wood beneath it. Then the same with the right hand. He moved to Marid’s naked legs and spread them as wide as the room would allow. He drove two nails into each of his feet, impaling him on the floor and unable to move. He stood back and looked down at the Christ-like monument he had created on the floor, and felt nothing.
Tears from Marid’s brown eyes had darkened the wood on his floor and soaked the gag in his mouth. The skin around his crotch burnt from the acidity of the urine his body had evacuated.
Christopher looked at himself in the mirror in the bathroom. “My dad would do the same,” he said confidently. He could hear the muffled sound of cries coming from the living room; Marid was awake. He picked up the lime green shower gel from the side of the bath and headed back into the living room. He knelt down in the gap between Marid’s legs; took the hammer and drove the handle into his arsehole. It wouldn’t go in at first, he had to push with both hands to move the hammer around; eventually it slipped in about two or three inches. He pushed the hammer in and out, in and out of Marid, until blood started trickle from his stretched anus. Marid cried out but the gag was doing its job and the cries were quiet. Christopher continued for two three minutes each drive of the hammer was harder and deeper than the last. The trickle of blood had turned into a stream and Christopher pulled the hammer out of Marid’s anus. The handle was bloodied and covered in faeces; the hole it had created looked like exit point of a bullet wound. But Christopher knew this wasn’t enough, he knew what had to be done because his dad would have done the same. He undid his belt buckle and removed his pants; pouring the shower gel onto his hand he rubbed the cold sticky liquid over his penis until it was erect. He knelt over Marid and forced his penis into the gaping wound that was his arsehole, driving it deep until his crotch met Marid’s buttocks. He lay over him and put his mouth to Marid’s ear, and whispered, “My dad always said......an eye for an eye.”
About the Author
Lee Carrick is 25. Originally from Newcastle, he now lives in Edinburgh. His biggest passions in life are writing and travelling, and he likes to combine the two. He has been writing poetry since he was 15, but only recently began to write short stories and his first novel. He was inspired to write by Ian Banks' The Wasp Factory and Neil Gaiman's Smoke and Mirrors.
Lee’s blog can be found at http://scheemieintheroom.tumblr.com. His poetry can also be read at http://writers-network.com/members/carrick.
Lee’s blog can be found at http://scheemieintheroom.tumblr.com. His poetry can also be read at http://writers-network.com/members/carrick.
