In Retaliation
© Copyright 2004 - Recherché Inamorato Productions

The wallpaper in her bedroom was cracked and peeling. The air smelled of dust, but was damp. Very little light peeked through the small holes of the large black garbage bag that covered the small bedroom window. And her pillowcase used to be clean, too. It was once white; but now there were pen marks from when she would break them in half and watch the ink flow onto whatever it could. And from all the times she went to sleep with her make-up on, there were smears of black from her eyes and crimson from her lips.

The young woman shifted in her bed, slightly tangled in her blankets. Her legs were scratched, getting stuck on the springs that poked through the mattress from years of wear and tear. Her long ebony tresses landed in her face; the hair smelled of strawberries and cream, and she allowed her hand to aggressively pull the strands away before it fell back down, landing hard on her hip.

She was having no second thoughts. Not a single one. A slight breeze caused the newspaper clippings above her bed to flutter, and she sat up knowing that there was no source of a breeze.

Her name was Betsy, and she was seventeen years old. She turned and faced the wall, sitting up on her knees, gazing at the clippings and black and white pictures. Andrew smiled back at her from the wall, beckoning.

Johnny Cash had been playing in the room. The exact song was called "Sunday Morning Coming Down" - and it was Sunday. The day Andrew had been listening to that had been Sunday, too. He was what everyone called a goth or a punk, but he loved Johnny Cash, and that song held significant meaning to him.

She leaned towards the nightstand and turned her stereo on before reaching to the floor and picking up her copy of the Johnny Cash CD and putting it in the player. She remembered it was track twelve, and her long finger pressed the play button, a solemn smile formed her lips as the lonely guitar began the song.

Her gaze turned back to the wall, and she leaned in, kissing the picture of Andrew. There was a permanent black marker next to her pillow, and she picked it up in her hand, studying it as if she'd never seen it before.

That man. The one who broke into Andrew's house and killed him. He was free, and she couldn't stand it. Andrew was the love of her life, and now he was gone. Why did this happen to him and not someone else?

No one believed her and wouldn't go after that man. She hated that they thought she was lying. But she wasn't. No one ever listened to her, and she was going to end that. She was going to put an end to it and be with Andrew at the same time.

She pulled the top off the marker and scrawled two words on the wall in big letters before pulling the small revolver from under her bed and placing it inside of her mouth. She closed her eyes tightly and pulled the trigger.

This will show them, she thought as she died, this is Sunday Morning Coming Down.

The two words were "In Retaliation".