Echoes of Her Wrath

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Echoes of Her Wrath

December 16, 1997

The night was dark outside the hideout.
Its stench still lingers around the compound. Though the slums were filled by low-lives like myself, the fiends remained damned inside the building, festering in their depravity.

They thought they could violate me.
They thought they could strip me.
They thought they could break me.

They thought…

Now they sit in their own guilt and filth.
What would it all mean to them if they died today?

What would occur in their minds as they draw their last breath�"clawing, begging for mercy?

It means nothing. For now, their halls echo with agony.

Their floors and mattresses are stained with their own blood.

One pleaded with me to kill him, to stop the pain.
One spat in my face in an act of pitiful defiance.
One cried for his mother.

Then there was another�"
A face so pale, now more than ever, as his heart stopped beating after my blade pierced it.

The heart I once fell for.
The heart that cloaked malicious intent.

As the morning sun shone upon my face, their blood still tainted my body.

I feel nothing but joy. The mixture of sweat and blood made the wind feel far more breezy.

I could finally be at peace. And when the authorities arrive, they will only find the shadow of my vengeance:

My half-lit cigarette.
My sharpened blade.
My echoes of wrath.