His Silent Vengeance: A Director's Redemption

Name: His Silent Vengeance: A Director's Redemption
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Gavin

Short stories | Completed

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The smell of antiseptic still clung to me, a phantom reminder of the fire that consumed my old life. Lying in a hospital bed, a mummy of bandages, I clutched onto the last hope: an experimental skin graft, my only chance to survive. I was a special effects artist, the guy behind the scenes, but I'd clawed my way to this lifeline. Then, Jocelyn Chavez, my protégée, the girl I' d trained and paid for, walked in. My "little sister." Her eyes were red, but not for me. "Andrew," she stammered, "you have to give it to Matthew. He needs his looks. He's a leading man, Andrew. You're... behind the scenes. He needs this more." I stared, aghast. I was dying, but Matthew's career was her priority. She didn' t see me; she saw a stepping stone for the charming star she was infatuated with. Despite my pleas, she left. Hours later, the nurse told me my spot had been "reallocated" at Jocelyn's request, for "greater public value." I died that night, alone, betrayed by the girl I' d given everything to. My last thought was of her face, twisted with devotion for him, not sorrow for me. The betrayal burned hotter than any fire. Then, I jolted awake. The acrid smell of a smoke machine, not real smoke, filled the air. I was back on set, a year before the fire. A stunt had just gone wrong. And there was Matthew, playing the hero, pointing to a girl with a real injury, Jocelyn, expecting me to handle the "trouble." This time, things would be different.

Betrayal Revenge Rebirth/Reborn Drama Office romance

Chapter 10

06-24 18:31

Introduction

The smell of antiseptic still clung to me, a phantom reminder of the fire that consumed my old life.

Lying in a hospital bed, a mummy of bandages, I clutched onto the last hope: an experimental skin graft, my only chance to survive.

I was a special effects artist, the guy behind the scenes, but I'd clawed my way to this lifeline.

Then, Jocelyn Chavez, my protégée, the girl I' d trained and paid for, walked in. My "little sister." Her eyes were red, but not for me.

"Andrew," she stammered, "you have to give it to Matthew. He needs his looks. He's a leading man, Andrew. You're... behind the scenes. He needs this more."

I stared, aghast. I was dying, but Matthew's career was her priority. She didn' t see me; she saw a stepping stone for the charming star she was infatuated with. Despite my pleas, she left. Hours later, the nurse told me my spot had been "reallocated" at Jocelyn's request, for "greater public value."

I died that night, alone, betrayed by the girl I' d given everything to. My last thought was of her face, twisted with devotion for him, not sorrow for me. The betrayal burned hotter than any fire.

Then, I jolted awake.

The acrid smell of a smoke machine, not real smoke, filled the air. I was back on set, a year before the fire. A stunt had just gone wrong. And there was Matthew, playing the hero, pointing to a girl with a real injury, Jocelyn, expecting me to handle the "trouble."

This time, things would be different.