He Died. I Smiled.

His last breath rattled from his chest. His eyes bore hatred into my flesh. Good. Because I hated him even more. And then his acid eyes dulled and he died. I smiled, a manic laugh escaping me, and then another, until I was laughing like an insane old witch. He was finally dead. The man that took everything from me was now no more than a corpse at my feet. Dead and rotting, just like I hoped his wretched soul was.

A breeze ran icy fingers down my spine, the only warmth the wet tracks on my cheeks. Wet tracks that would soon freeze too. Wait, wet tracks? I gingerly reached up to find tears streaking down my face. Why? Why was I crying. Why hadn’t the fist of grief released my heart yet? Why didn’t I feel ecstatic? He was gone. My vengeance enacted, my mission over. So why did I wish I was the one dead instead? The fist on my heart tightened even more and I gasped. Pain shot through my knees as my vision fragmented – just like my soul. My moans haunted the howling wind.