chapter 28
Curtain down. Exodos in the Greek theatrical tradition. All the players, major and minor, having served their purpose, exit the scene. The princess avenged. The Prince doomed. My enemy Pallas defeated.
So why when I shake my snow globe do I not taste the soul-tingling relief I so long for? I need a calculator to add up all my princely pounds of flesh cooked into a stew and served up for supper in my House of Revenge.
Yet I am still not released from this appetite as I wander the dank netherworld and the locker-lined halls of Hunter High.
What gives?
Warning: anti-drug message coming at you.
Revenge is like any of those other gateway drugs that you have been warned against. Your first experience? It’s what it’s cracked up to be: an all-encompassing, headlong rush of endorphins into sheer transcendence.
The second time? Well, that was pretty good, but it lacked something, a certain zesty zing. As the Hunter High bathroom stoners always complain: You should have been here for that other shit.
Ambrosia’s Law: The most recent act of revenge is never as satisfying as the one before it.
It’s all about recapturing the first time, a desperate chase to relive and reclaim your moment of the undiluted bliss of vengeance. You always want more.
Chase. Chase. Chase.
That’s why I have to double the dose. Triple it. Hunt it down and ingest it straight.
Keep hunting, I order.
Hunt. Hunt. Hunt.
FIFTH STASIMON, THE BOOK OF FURIOUS