The Devil You Know
So you’re walking down the road when you spot him, coming in the other direction, that cunt who killed your whole family. They let him out as part of the prisoner exchange, part of their peace agreement.
Some peace when all you’re trying to do is buy milk and scratch cards and you’re confronted with his evil grin reflecting in a hundred shop windows and car doors. It’s like the Devil himself is walking towards you.
Your mouth dries up. Hands get clammy. Feel sick. Like you wanna scream but there’s a bubble in your chest and it’s rising. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe. Your face is on fire but your belly’s on ice. He’s twenty feet away. Ten. Keep walking. Head high. Don’t let him see the tears. Get the satisfaction of murdering their memories all over again…
He steps in front of you. Blocking your way. The fuckin cunt has the gumption to actually stop and say, with a quivering lip that he can never bring them back but wants you to know that he’s sorry for all the hurt he caused and if it means anything at all, he wishes he’d never put that bomb in the shop in the first place.
If he could turn back time, he would, but no one can and now you’re running as fast as you can cause the Devil doesn’t say sorry, not in the stories.
x
