Revenge is Best Served Battered. Short Story.

I hope everyone had a good weekend. Mine was interesting enough. I got over the vaccination tiredness, so that was something anyway! I’ve a bunch of essays to do and no interest in doing them. I seem to be procrastinating wildly today. Still, five essays and one exam and that is it. Two weeks and I have finished college. I don’t know how to feel about that. It’s such a strange thought!

I found this going through some old writing folders & I’m feeling slightly nostalgic today.

On with the show!


I lay in the mud, panting, the cold rain soaking through my uniform, blood mingling with the dirty water, I looked at my scraped knee, it wasn’t too bad. Behind me my dad was screaming at me “GET UP! C’MON! QUICKLY” I stood up again and grabbed the rugby ball, I ran towards the goal posts, the dull thudding of the other players chasing me and the screams of the crowd drowned out all other sound. I was going to do it. I started to scream in triumph “YE-UMPH!” the air rushed out of me as I was crushed beneath a swarm of vicious players.

I limped off the pitch, my dad had his head hung in shame as I had lost the ball. I was nursing a bite mark on my hand, a guy bit me to get at the ball; he couldn’t pry it out of my fingers. I was trying to pass it to someone on my team but I failed miserably. “You need to get better, from now on we’re doubling our training.” Oh…fun. Training is normally from 6 a.m. to 7 a.m. then 5 p.m. till 7 p.m. “And your gonna run to and from normal practice and games an-” “But it’s like four miles and how will you get home?” I asked, while eyeing his large gut “oh, I’ll just drive alongside you,” hah figures. I took a risk “maybe you could run as well….lose a bit of weight?” His fists clenched and his cheeks bloomed with anger, his eyes reflected pure fury, sensing the coming storm I quickly added “just kidding” he seemed to calm, but with my father, you never know. We got to the car in silence. We pulled into MacDonald’s, I was surprised as take-away was a very rare treat “Cool, can I get a-” “You’re not getting anything, you don’t need the extra weight” I looked at my stomach, then his, I was the skinniest kid in my year, probably my school, I turn sideways and I disappear, he turns sideways and knocks everything off the shelf. I suppressed a snort as he gave his order “Extra large Big Mac meal and a Coke.”
He ate in the parking lot. He was greedily stuffing his face, I was terrified he might lose a finger. One look from him told me that I wasn’t to tell my mother.

When we got home, she had dinner ready for us. My dad smiled and said “Thank God, I’m starving,” It’s no wonder he can barely fit through the doorways. My mum smiled and ruffled my hair “how did it go?” “It went o-” “He was crap! I’m ashamed to be seen with him now” My mother stared at my father. My dad stared back. She bent down and hugged me and whispered in my ear “Don’t mind him, don’t eat too much, I’ll take you to MacDonald’s later to cheer you up” I nodded slightly, I looked at my dad he knew she said something to make me feel better, his calculating eyes flashed “I swear sometimes you just try to embarrass me” I smiled sweetly and replied “I’m a teenager, its my job to make you’re life difficult.” My mum laughed, my dad glared.
I went up to my room, I was so angry, I didn’t even like rugby and my room was plastered with paraphernalia, my dad has bought me nothing else. I sat on my bed, I had to get him back for forcing me to play, but how?

I had it, everything I needed.
“Hey dad! Last éclair left, want it?” “Why not” came the reply, I smiled, he walked right into the trap. As he was in the toilet, groaning and yelling about a “bad éclair” I crossed phase one off the list.
Earlier I had melted some chocolate laxatives, then, I picked the chocolate off the éclair and drizzled on my evil scheme.
Stage one complete, onto stage two.

My dad is going grey and slightly balding; he is very sensitive about it, so stage two was devilishly evil. He came down the stairs, scratching his head, he had dyed it again, the colour faded, then came back brilliantly, slightly staining the skin on his bald patch. I looked on with glee as he brushed hairs of his shoulders.
That evening when I came home, I had to struggle not to laugh. My dad had to leave work early due to ill health. The doctor was tending to his head, which was now as bare as a tree in winter. I had crept in late at night and mixed hair remover with his hair dye, to his horror and the amusement of everyone else in work, his hair started to come out in clumps around mid-morning, he had to wear a hat while leaving the office, his face was an interesting shade of crimson.

My last plan, was the most evil.

“Dad!” “yeah?” “I’m making some batter burgers, I saw them make ‘em on TV, want one?” “Sure, but don’t tell you’re mother, she’d kill me as I’m supposed to cut back on fatty food” “O, I swear I won’t tell mum I gave you one”
I started the preparations, I filled mine with meat and his with cat food, left out overnight and then rolled on the floor, maggots dived in and out of the rotting food.

I felt sick as I handed it to him, maybe I went to far…he scowled “took ya bloody long enough” my mind was made up, he deserved it, it seemed that losing his hair and getting the Hershey squirts hadn’t taught him anything I smiled sweetly “enjoy, eat all of it, they’re delicious” I indicated my empty plate, he bit into it, my stomach rolled. Juice squirted out, I gagged. He put it down after a few bites. I was pleased; a satisfied grin was plastered on my face from ear to ear. “That was lovely, I can’t eat all of it though, very filling” I took the plate off him, I looked into it just as I was about to throw it out. My eyes widened. There it was, the meat I had put in my burger, I ran to the sink and threw up while my dad laughed “I switched them while you went to get the deep fat fryer, I’m not that easy to trick!.”



About Alan James Keogh

I am a 26 year old writer who somehow tricked U.C.D. into giving me not only a degree in English and Classical studies, but an Hons Masters in Creative Writing too. Visit my blog where I post short stories twice a week (Monday and Wednesday) and an installment of a serialised novel on Fridays. I did consider writing this in the third person, as though it was written by someone else, but Alan is not comfortable writing in the third person as it seems kinda creepy and unbalanced so Alan decided it was probably best to write in the first person. He hopes it went well for him.
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