Justice Is Swift

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Her unseeing eyes, blank and soulless. Burning a hole in the ceiling. Causing ashes to fall from above, much like her ashes from the porcelain urn. Flashing images fly through the pool of blood surrounding her torso. The knife stuck in her stomache, pinned to the ground, glinting rays of light off the blade, out the window.

The images of the past, forever in the present, showing a movie in black and white. The blade is the film, she is her own audience, her life is the movie. The dust in the air floating through the sun's rays. How could this happen?

No answer. Nothing asked. Nothing said, only screamed. “W-what are you doing with that?”

The blade sliced through the air with a whoosh. Menacing look on his face, evil filtering through his pupils, telling stories of horror with one look. What she saw, she just knew she had to flee. The moment her muscles tensed, he lunged with great ease, images of the devil sifting through and out his vessel. Scene twenty-six in the movie. Horror, gore, blood, terror.

Rated R.

Tripping on wooden furniture, scraping shins, banging against her head. Adrenaline pulsing through her tears, screams, and blood. The scent of fear, the rigid aroma fumed into the room. Sharpness, and dull pain. Screams. Sharp, piercing screams, echoing throughout the lonely house. Drifting, endless floating, and chasms of blackness fading into her vision.

Done. She's done on this earth, but the images still exists. Lays there, providing a story for everyone to see. Her blood a movie, her body the director, the knife the film.

.

But the finger prints remain, her departure not without a fee. His justice will be swift, as swift as a killer in the night. Midnight sky shining through red curtains, windows letting in light.

Her unseeing eyes, will make sure her departure was justified.

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