Tarnished

"Those who plot the destruction of others often fall themselves."

- Phaedrus

Brianna raised the gun, fingers barely shaking on the smooth metal. She was powerful right now; in this moment nothing could touch her. Not even him, he couldn't make her raw heart bleed inside any more.

He was on the ground, holding out his hands to her, pleading. "Please, please girlie, please. Mercy."

Mercy? What mercy had he shown to her mother? Her fingers shook for the first time on the trigger, but she ignored the trembling marked her target.

"You shall not kill." For an instant the gun lowered in surprise, Brianna looked around the grimy street for the speaker – but there was no one.

Only she and the bastard remained - how . . . poetic.

"At last, mom, you will have rest." The sound was only her craving to hear that voice again, nothing more. She shook her head to clear those kind of thoughts and raised the gun again.

"Please, girl. I'll do anything." He was panicking now, good.

"Tell that to my mother you bloody coward, you can meet her soon." Brianna's hands were sweating with her anger, but she dared not wipe them on her T-shirt. She couldn't lost control, not for a second. Not with him.

"Promise me, Bri, no matter what happens." The spectral words haunted her, an echo of what was and could never be again.

"I promise, mom." But those had been happier times, carefree, trusting, and innocent . . . surely that promise didn't count now?

It was all his fault – he had broken her wings, and torn her innocence to shreds.

"Oh, Bri, love . . ."

"It doesn't matter any more." Nothing mattered anymore, but the feel of the gun under her fingertips, and the hate burning in her heart.

"Bri, love, remember never to harm another creature."

"You don't understand, mama." Brianna knew what hate was now; it was staring back at her with terrified green eyes.

" . . . Not ever."

"Mama, you're dead, and nothing can change that."

"Exactly, my beautiful. Don't tarnish your heart with revenge."

"I need to make things right."

"My daughter, if you do it in anger it is wrong."

"He killed you mom." He had done more than that. She remembered every detail, every scream. When she closed her eyes at night, she could still picture his knife dripping with her mother's life's blood.

With them memory came hot tears running down her cheeks. She blinked them away, ashamed. She would not let him see her weak.

Thinking of him brought her attention back to the hard reality of the gun in her hand. "This is for every happy ending you have ruined."

"I didn't know, missy."

"Not for anger, love."

"You didn't know it was wrong, or that her daughter would come after you?" He had no answer, but she had expected none.

"Not for hatred."

"Mama . . . Mom, he hurt you."

"Never for revenge." The gun lowered, and then rose again.

"One shot." He was barely feet away, an easy shot. It would be her last shot. After that there would be no more need for revenge. She could be free at last - free of the entwined burdens of hate and memory.

They were so heavy now . . . she wanted to become light again. Brianna wanted everything to be the way it used to - before he had entered the stage and burned the curtains. What did she have left to lose now? Nothing. She wuld have her peace.

"If you do so you will betray my love." Brianna hesitated. Fingers trembling on the trigger now, she looked down at the man who had destroyed her heart and left nothing in its place but a carcass.

"I love you mom."

She made her choice.