Retributioner is a fictional story. It is a story of woman who gets married at young age and later faces mental and physical agony. She chooses to fight back and end the ill treatment by her own way. Retributioner is first story of the anthology – Wrath of Angels
She kept it back and came to me next day at noon, crying. I ask her to watch him when he unlocks the phone. She followed; remembered the pattern and after three more days of trying, she finally unlocked it. I wish I should not have suggested this. The phone was filled with images of her husband romancing and posing at Singapore spots with another white lady. She fell on the bathroom floor, too shaken to cry so making ghoulish gasping little sighs instead.
She walked out of the bathroom, wakes her husband and asked why he has been traitor. Her husband slapped her tightly for stealing his phone and rebuked her for being a detective. He hit her more to make sure she never acts like a detective again. She sat there in affirmation. Fear masquerading as acceptance.
It was never an easy game for her to win, but it was at that moment that she lost. Filled with venom, she has now decided to get justice. Her red eyes, punch cheeks, swollen vagina, and bleeding forehead – all told her to stop and say no to this constant agony.
Later in the week, her husband came home with a whiskey bottle. He drank at night and wakes his wife at midnight, fucked her, bites her boobs till they bleed and fucked her ass too. He was drunk. He shows her picture of him with another woman, who looked Indian.
He said, “How big boobs she has, very soft and tender. Look at your tiny lemons, they make me feel inferior” he shouted that wake her kids up to find her nude.
While he laid their nude, she quickly dressed up and put her kids back to sleep with a quick story.
Only women have this uncanny quirk of forgetting her agony and forgiving tribulations; giving love and care to her kindle at the time like this.
She did not talk to me for days. Her sudden confinement to her house made me worried. One day I ventured to hit her doorbell for short talk. She opened the door with the same smile.
I knew her mother-in-law is out to pray at the temple, so I jumped directly to my concerns.
She told me everything about the white lady hiding her bruises. It did not need shrewd eyes though, to see her scars. Her wailing still echo in my ears. I sympathized her. I told her to consult a doctor.
It was either my folly or my being conditioned to the tolerance-enriched-Culture, I never mentioned to call the police to her. Neither did it hit my mind anytime.
She asked me to get three thermometers with an apology that she will not be able to pay for it. Her husband, who has seen half the world never gives her money for anything, neither has hired a maid to give her some comfort and time to raise three kids.
“I did not need money, I will get them. But why do you need them?” bewildered, I asked.
“I can’t tell you that,” she told me with her mind wandering to a different land. Silence prevailed for long. She got up and left hurriedly; leaving me in the profound thought of possibilities of next events that might be occurring in the neighborhood. I gave her three thermometers in the evening when her mother-in-law went for a walk.