Revenge is often like biting a dog because the dog bit you.

Host: The alleyway was still wet from the rain — the kind that falls hard and leaves behind the faint smell of asphalt and iron. A streetlight flickered above, its glow weak but persistent, cutting long shadows through puddles that shimmered like broken mirrors. The hum of the city beyond felt distant, like another world.

Jack stood near the end of the alley, hands in his coat pockets, his breath visible in the cool air. He wasn’t pacing — not tonight. He was still. Too still. The kind of stillness that follows a storm, not peace.

Jeeny approached quietly from the street, her footsteps soft, her umbrella tucked under her arm. She stopped a few feet away, studying him — not the way you look at someone dangerous, but the way you look at someone who’s teetering on the edge of something they might regret.

Jeeny: softly “Austin O’Malley once said, ‘Revenge is often like biting a dog because the dog bit you.’”

Jack: half-smiling, bitterly “Yeah, well. Sometimes the dog deserves to be bitten.”

Host: The light flickered, catching the rain drops clinging to the edges of her hair. She looked at him — calm, composed, her expression carrying the kind of sadness reserved for people who’ve seen too much of the same story.

Jeeny: “Maybe. But you forget — when you bite the dog, you start acting like one.”

Jack: snorts “You always did have a thing for metaphors.”

Jeeny: quietly, stepping closer “And you always had a thing for revenge.”

Host: He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even flinch. The silence between them pulsed like a heartbeat — steady, alive, dangerous. The streetlight buzzed, a faint hum breaking the stillness.

Jack: low, steady “You ever feel that itch? That cold clarity that says, ‘This is justice’? That what you’re doing isn’t vengeance — it’s balance?”

Jeeny: softly “Yes. That’s what makes it seductive. Revenge always starts with the illusion of righteousness.”

Jack: turns, facing her now, his eyes sharp but tired “And what’s wrong with that? People talk about forgiveness like it’s virtue, but sometimes forgiveness just lets the wound fester. Sometimes the only way to close it is with blood.”

Jeeny: firmly, but with sorrow “That’s not healing, Jack. That’s infection disguised as relief.”

Host: The rain began again — soft this time, tapping against the metal trash bins and cardboard boxes stacked along the wall. Jack tilted his head slightly upward, letting the drops hit his face. He didn’t wipe them away.

Jack: “You ever notice how calm revenge makes you feel — for a moment? It’s like the world finally makes sense. Until it doesn’t.”

Jeeny: “That’s because revenge isn’t resolution. It’s repetition. It doesn’t end the pain — it mirrors it.”

Jack: quietly, almost to himself “Then why does it feel like justice when nothing else does?”

Jeeny: “Because it’s simple. Anger is simple. Forgiveness is complex. Revenge gives you control — for a moment. Forgiveness asks you to trust time, and time doesn’t always answer.”

Host: The city noises swelled faintly — a siren somewhere, a car horn, laughter from a distant bar. The world kept spinning, indifferent. Jack’s breath trembled in the cold.

Jack: “You know what the dog metaphor really means? It’s not about morality. It’s about futility. You bite the dog — you don’t hurt it. You just hurt yourself, and look stupid doing it.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “Exactly. You lower yourself to the thing you hate most — and call it justice.”

Jack: exhales slowly “So what, I’m just supposed to do nothing? Let them walk away?”

Jeeny: “No. You learn. You protect yourself. You grow teeth if you have to — but you don’t use them to bite back. You use them to guard your peace.”

Host: The wind picked up, catching a torn piece of newspaper and spinning it between them. Jeeny reached out, catching it mid-air — a headline smeared beyond legibility, just black ink and gray rainwater.

Jeeny: softly “You can’t unhurt yourself by hurting someone else. Revenge keeps you chained to the thing that broke you.”

Jack: low “Maybe I want the chain. At least it reminds me what happened.”

Jeeny: “No. It reminds you of who did it — not who you could become.”

Host: For a moment, he said nothing. The rain fell harder now, turning the ground to a shifting mosaic of ripples. Jeeny’s hair clung to her cheek, but she didn’t move. Jack finally looked at her — really looked at her.

Jack: softly, after a long pause “You ever gotten close? To revenge, I mean.”

Jeeny: a faint smile, sad and knowing “Close enough to see that it doesn’t end where you think it will. The revenge doesn’t stop with them — it keeps going until it finds you.”

Jack: quietly “And what did you do instead?”

Jeeny: “I wrote about it. I prayed. I forgave when I didn’t feel like forgiving. And every time I wanted to bite back, I reminded myself — you can’t teach peace with your teeth.”

Host: Jack laughed softly, but it wasn’t mocking — it was fragile, tired, real. He looked at his reflection in a puddle at his feet — warped, shimmering, temporary.

Jack: murmuring “Biting the dog, huh?”

Jeeny: nods “It’s human instinct. The difference is choice. You can feel the bite coming — and decide not to.”

Jack: finally breathing deeply, calmer “You make it sound easy.”

Jeeny: smiling faintly “It’s not. It’s just right.”

Host: The rain began to fade again, leaving behind a glassy sheen across the alley. A taxi passed at the end of the street, its light briefly illuminating them both — two figures caught between shadow and reflection.

Jeeny: “Let it go, Jack. You can’t rewrite the past by reenacting it.”

Jack: after a long pause “You really believe that?”

Jeeny: “I have to. Otherwise, every wound becomes a weapon.”

Host: The camera would have pulled back then — rising slowly above the alley, showing the two of them small beneath the city’s neon sprawl. The rain made the light look like spilled fire across the pavement. Jack stood motionless as Jeeny walked past him, her umbrella opening like a quiet act of grace.

And as the scene faded into the hum of the city, Austin O’Malley’s words echoed like an old truth rediscovered —

that revenge,
no matter how righteous it feels,
always turns the hunter into the hunted.

Host: For every act of retaliation
is a confession of pain unhealed,
and every bite taken in anger
leaves us bleeding from our own teeth.

And the hardest lesson of all —
the one only the brave ever learn —
is that forgiveness is not surrender,
but freedom.

Because walking away from vengeance
isn’t weakness —
it’s the most amazing kind of strength.