119.Retribution. (19/03/2016).

This started as a stand alone piece but soon resonated with an earlier one called “Catharsis” which was similar but opposite in terms of the power dynamic of the narrative. As this one progressed it was clear that it was not just the setting they would have in common. The interesting thing for me was the characters motivation. Especially with “Retribution” and the aiming for an authentic resolution to things.


119.Retribution. (19/03/2016).


He came hard and wet, against her leg,

As she lifted herself up,

As her heart bled,

And her eyes cried,

While, still in his passion,

A different kind of sweat,

Now forced his eyes wide open,

His panting short breathes,

Now came from a different motivation,

Panicking hands unclenched,

With fingers outstretched,

Reached for the face that spied him,

And it spied him from the surface,

All the way through to the core of him,

To the place where his sins and lies reside,

Fate had finally come for him,

And she didn’t care,

As she clamped her fingers tight,

If she used bound hands as bait,

Before she used them for retribution,

For the sisters he’d left cold and broken,

It was all the same to her,

And she was sure he’d understand,

If she took some time and relished her power,

As she watched the lights go out.


© Jim Laing 2016.

Below is the link for the earlier companion piece, Catharsis:


About Jim Laing

The Buddha said there were four kinds of people. Those who run from dark to dark, those who run from light to dark, those who run from dark to light and those who run from light to light. From a life going from dark to dark to having a few years running from dark to light, with scuffed hands and knees from sometimes falling, I may be getting the hang of it now. How it began is not now how it is, I need a quiet space, After the noise of the day, So I take sanctuary in the creativity, And my soul feeds, On sometimes dark, Sometimes light fantasy, And I dare like many to work, But stay up off my knees, To dream, perchance to suffer, But always still to dream. Here are things mostly lyrical and poetic, with nonsense sometimes, reviews and personal musings. The coffees hot and always black. The words not necessarily so.
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