A fitting end

‘Be still, my beating heart,’ she whispers as he stumbles into view. Silently, she draws the knife and crouches low, behind the rock wall.

It is time.

A moment of recognition, of realisation as she swiftly plunges the blade deep into his stomach. Just like she rehearsed.

‘Why?’ he whimpers breathlessly.

‘I know. About her.’ She twists.

There is more blood than expected. Guiltily she realises how much she is enjoying this.

The anger.

The rush.

Even the blood.

Especially the blood.

Then the audience roars with approval.

She smiles sweetly, helps her bloody co-star to his feet, and bows.

Written by Alanah Andrews

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