I am in Saginaw, my home town. I am alone in a dartkened room with my Mom's ex boyfriend Aundre. A man who is only a man because of his age, NOT because of his mentality, who stands approximately 6' 4" or thereabouts, he's probably a solid 300 pounds, built like a brick shithouse. And yes, full of shit. He is on his knees in front of me, his clothes torn, bleeding from every crevice in his now battered body.

All his friends and family are outside, but they are for one reason or another glued to where they are standing. They watch in horror as I beat him tirelessly. And when my fists, now swollen and crusted with blood tire- I chain him to the wall where I cut his clothing from him. Making him naked, open bodied for al the world and God to see.

And then the fun begins. I have now beaten him like the bitch that he is. And now, the real joy of this fantasy can begin. I take the dullest, rustiest butter knife I can find... and I begin sawing at his cock. Sawing it so fiercely and ferociously that he screams like a woman 3 weeks overdue in labor.

His screams are my reward. His penis my nights trash.

Once removed, I take it out and throw it on the lawn leaving him bleeding and bawling. His sobs start to slow and I can barely hear him. His family is screaming. Aundre is bleeding to death. He is dying. And I take great comfort in the fact that the last thing he sees before his Angel of mercy comes to suck from him his very last breath-

is me. On the front lawn in front of God and his friends and family, mowing his cock over and shredding it into mulch bits with a trusty John Deere.

And it is only then... that I find my peace.

Does that sound evil? 'Cause I'm feeling evil. Does it seem harsh and cruel? He deserves nothing but in my mind. Do I sound crazy? I never claimed to be sane. Out of character for Sara? Perhaps. Would that I could live out this fantasy of mine... I would be happy.

Thrilled.

Tickled.

Muah. Ha. Fucking Hah.

You see, last night, this self proclaimed Man (as if!) attacked my Momma. He beat her. And he beat her severely. In front of my 5 year old brother who lay witness to such horrifying acts. A yound child, My mother's baby, watched his father beat my mother repeatedly.

I have not seen her yet. I know that her back is bruised badly. Her hand required stitches. He called her trash. He called her many things.

She, the mother of his sons, the woman who put up with his cheating ways, his ignorance, his uncontrolled anger. The woman who cooked for him, cleaned for him, raised his sons single handedly all while he never worked and ran around on her. My Momma lived a life of poverty for him. For her delusional depiction of love.

He beat her. Put me in a cold, dark room with him that is sound proof. Give me a dull butter knife. Hell, let me at him with my bare fists. Let me teach him how helpless feels. Let him know fear. Let him be on the recieving end of a derranged, rage filled attacker. Let him, for once, know how it feels to be weak.

If only... just for once...

Not very christian. I know. But damn it all to hell, I'm NOT feeling christian right now.

I am angry. I want revenge and I want MY kind of revenge. And I would settle for nothing less!

**********************************

I spoke with my Momma tonight. She says she's sore. Well no doubt. But just in talking to her, I know it's more than her physical body that aches. She's wounder far deeper. The wounds on her body will heal. I'm not sure her spirit will survive this one.

And my brother Aaron? He's terrified. He's angry. After Aundre left, he took his father's picture off the wall and smashed it. Then, I'm told, he took a shard of glass and cut his father's face to beyond recognition. My Mom is worried about him. Me too. Me too.

*************************************

Why is it that men, thinking they are the supreme being, beat on women? Why do they prey on women who are weaker. Women they claim to love?

There is no excuse. There is no reason. And to me, there is no justice.

And even more maddening, is the women who stay. Thankfully, Momma pessed charges and is getting a restraining order. I don't think she'll go back. And no, this was not an on going thing. Thank God for that.

I want so desperately to lash out at something, someone... a certain someone. Yet, I cannot. I will never be able to. And that sucks moose cock like nothing else.

I have been in my Momma's shoes. Once. My ex boyfriend Lee whom I dated for almost 2 years in my rebellious stage when I was 15, moved me in with him and his family as I was having problems at home with my Dad. Slwoly but surely, I was no longer allowed to have "my" friends. Only his friends were allowed with his permission. He even stopped me from going to school. And then from seeing my family.

I was too naive back then to see the signs. My friend Michelle, my best friend since 3rd grade tried like crazy. but I "was in love".

Well, Lee got drunk one night and decided to take his agression out on me.

Once.

The next Monday he went to work, and My Dad showed up when I was there alone and I moved myself and my stuff.

He stalked me for awhile. I was scared briefly. Then angered. He sent me dozens of roses and ballons every day. I gave them all to Shawn's Mom.

It was after that break up that Shawn and I renewed our friendship and started hanging out again. We became inseperable. And then, one magical night while his Mom was off at Ted Nugent's Whiplash bash, and Shawn and I were home alone watching Saturday Night Live....

Magic was made.

We took the step from friends, to lovers. And it was that night, that I thanked the good Lord from delivering me from evil. Right into the arms of my White Knight clad in tightie-whitie BVD's and a tee shirt. He rode no horse but had one hell of an Impala with a lot of horse under the hood. And a back seat Shamoo could get lost in.

I look back on that time in my life quite a lot when shit like this happens. I'm livid, depressed, sad- bearing whatever blues have me down.

And I relaize that in my darkest hour, God delivered me. And because of that deliverance, Shawn saved me. And a love purer than the purest, undriven snow.

Shawn is my angel. My comepletion. My snugglebutt.

For richer (like THAT's gonna happen), for poorer (we've been there- done that. And I'm praying we never go back), in sickness (physical and mental of which both have a tendency to claim me from time to time) and in health (I will never claim to be mentally healthy I assure you). Until death do us part.

((Editor's Note: This is quite unofficial as Shawn has refused to either pop "The" question or accept my proposal. Though I am STILL, untiringly and quite obsessively working on that fact. Thank You for your understanding in advance)

So help me God.

Simply,

Sara

My Prayer for Revenge

Now I lay me,

Down to sleep-

I pray the Lord

To let me make Aundre weep.

Lord, let me chop of his cock

and beat him within an inch of his life-

let me saw off his balls

with the dullest butter knife!

Let me humble the man whom

knows not to turn the other cheek

let me seek my revenge

and show him what it is to be weak.

And when he's lost his arrogance

and I've stripped him of his pride-

you can send him straight to hell...

an eye for an eye!!!!!!!!