John sat in that room and began writing and then recording audio and video about everything that was wrong with it and, therefore, with Gordon.
Stasis is never wanting to be wrong. Or right for that matter. People change their minds all the time anyway. Unless they have revenge in mind that is. Revenge makes you right and wrong simultaneously. Something tells you that what you want to do is wrong but by doing it, by completing their Revengers’ Tale, the world will be set right.
Some Revengers manage to convince themselves of this dualistic approach all the way to their graves. Their consciences vomit guilt into them.
Some don’t.
Some are so convinced of their messianic mission of revenge that can convince others of it. Even to carry that mission forward after the death or imprisonment of the original Revenger.
Some Revenger’s Tales grow and morph long after the Revenger and the original target of their revenge have long been forgotten.
You should also note before we continue that most Revengers are almost like you and I. As are the objects of the particular revenge. Most revengees look either much, much more beautiful or much, much uglier. That is how you can tell the former from the latter.
Many Revengers can disguise this difference. Some of you are even cleverer than that. Many appear to make their object’s beauty or ugliness your own. I mean, their own. Not you of course.
Subjectivity is objectivity. An effective Revenger can combine these. Pain is pleasure. A great Revenger will be able to convince first themselves and then others. The truly masterful Revenger will be able to finally even convince the revengees that, in fact, everybody has benefited from the act or acts.
At their genesis, however, the Revenger must first be able to eliminate any doubt from their souls.
Take the example of ‘John’ who hated his room in a capital city. Of course, he hated his life in the city. He hated everything about the city. It’s bright lights especially. John was not a hugely prolific though. He concentrated his loathing on his room in the house owned by a man we’ll call ‘Gordon’.
John sat in that room and began writing and then recording audio and video about everything that was wrong with it and, therefore, with Gordon.
One year in he was preparing to show Gordon written notes that detailed the noise, the damp, the smells and the fact that the shy lady in the room above him had a new splash of paint on her landing despite only having moved in three months previously. John’s landing remained wallpapered in the dark red flock of a decade before.
He showed Gordon his notes. Played him audio (John had a podcast with three listeners). Showed him the video. Gordon told him that he could always move out. So, John modified his plan and opted instead to understand the other man more deeply. John decided he could do this by acquainting himself with Gordon’s haunts and habits. These, it transpired, comprised a local bar called ‘Chicagos’, which was frequented by actors, actresses and their hangers-on. Gordon had become the second character in John’s Revenger’s Tale.
Soon, John started to eat and drink at Chicagos on a more regular basis than Gordon. He discovered that Gordon enjoyed throwing his weight around. This was strange. He was a tall man, but he was slight, he was wiry. He dressed in unrealised low-camp. Usually in white shoes, pale blue slacks and loud, Hawaiian shirts.
The people in Chicagos, as John soon discovered, were open, generous types. They took to John quickly, because he helped them with taxes. John was good with money. He helped others to find happiness in their complex relationships. He had no desire for a relationship of his own so was able to view theirs with great clarity.
John was sure not to mention that Gordon was his landlord. Gordon never appeared to acknowledge John’s presence, except for one occasion in the lavatory, following a particularly morose and drunken session. Gordon had come up behind John, who was washing his hands, and had explained – sotto voce – that he knew who he was, and he knew what he was up to.
Mr and Mrs Martini, who owned the bar, had invited John and some of the other regulars to the christening of one of their battalions of grandchildren. The party had returned two hours before to find Gordon, sitting at his small round wooden table in the middle of the bar area with a chessboard in front of him, his head in his hands. Other drinkers were scattered on various stools, at tables and of course, at the bar itself. The exclusion zone around Gordon’s table was apparent though, as were the chessmen drowning on the wine-drenched board.
John had gone to the gents, and as he was finishing up Gordon had stumbled in. After explaining that he knew what John was up to, which elicited no reaction, he told John about his room. It was cursed. Not only that but the curse would never be lifted. Gordon slurred about the love of his life, his whole life. He had died in John’s room, on John’s bed. There had been nothing he could do. The suicide had been so unnecessary, it had been so cold.
“So, why did you rent it to me?” asked John.
”Because I needed the money to pay for the funeral. Because you said you would take it. Because nobody else had”, sobbed Gordon. He told John that he wanted someone truly unpleasant to occupy the room, to suffer in the same room that his beloved had. His beloved who had let him down so badly. He said that John was perfect for the role. He told John that he enjoyed every piece of his writing, every sound from his audio, and especially every piece of his video.
He told John that his revenge on his beloved for leaving had been beautiful to see and hear.
John returned to the party. John returned to his room. Alone.
