A Woman Scorned
Monday, January 28th, 2019
Everyone has a story.
A story that offers an explanation for why they are the way they are. A justification for their screwed-up actions.
I guess I’m just attempting to vindicate what I’m about to do, the crime I’m about to commit.
“There’s one thing about those tables: they always turn.” I smile wickedly at the trembling man before me.
Almost two years ago, our positions were completely reversed. I was the one trying to escape the death he was certain he would deliver. However, there will be a different outcome today than there was nearly two years ago.
This sad excuse of a man won’t be escaping like I had. He won’t be narrowly evading his death, because I’m going to make sure a silver bullet kisses the space between his eyes.
My grip on the suppressed Beretta is steady and sure. I have bided my time for this moment, and nothing will ruin it. Tonight, death will be dealt by my hand.
“You’ll—you’ll regret this,” the balding man stutters as he slowly cowers away from me. Sweat beads on his forehead and trails down his paling face. You’d think a man in his position wouldn’t be this cowardly, but here we are.
I tilt my head to the side and smile condescendingly. “I really don’t believe I will. You know, you should have killed me the first chance you had that night. It would have saved you a lot of trouble, and, of course, your life.”
“Wait!” he shouts. “If you do this, my son will be after you and everyone you love!”
I chuckle, finding his words amusing. He must not know about his son yet. “Very bold of you to assume I love anyone anymore.” The smile playing on my lips vanishes. My features return to stone. “You already killed everyone I love. And which son? The one who’s dead, or the one in love with me?" I taunt. "There’s no hope for you.”
“Have mercy!” he pleads pathetically. When I shake my head with a devious smile, he takes a shuddering breath, finally coming to terms with his inescapable death. “What about your parents?”
I purse my lips. “What about them? Even if they’re still alive, they’re as dead to me as you’re about to be.”
“Shit,” he murmurs, his steely gray eyes widening as he realizes nothing is going to stop me from pulling the trigger and ending his deplorable life. Then he asks, “Don’t you fear anything?”
Myself.
Having wasted enough time, I pull the trigger instead of answering him. The speed of the bullet doesn’t allow him time to react. It pierces his skull, dead between the eyes.
There is nothing more dangerous than a scorned woman hellbent on revenge, with nothing left to lose and no one left to love.
Everyone has a story.
