No pain.

The pencil in her thigh stood throbbing, but there was no pain.

The cigarette lighter sizzled against her flesh, but there was no pain.

Her insides glistened wetly in the open, but there was no pain.

Her lungs burned from lack of air, but there was no pain.

Her blood kept pulsing like a torrent, but there was no pain.

Then her vision faded and her pain was supposed to fade too, but it didn't.



What had happened?

She felt cold, like the light flicker overhead.

Where had he gone to, her torturer, her killer?

If she only could get up.

Some had to stay behind, she didn't need it anymore.



No body, no case, no questions, but revenge.

Why was she walking, why her heart pounding, why her eyes searching?

He had killed her, he was the reason she was alive.



She hesitated, felt her aching corpse. She'd be gone too, right?

She had to, and flicked the switch.

The lights went off, the light went bright,
a torturer bursts out of sight,
his body blown to tiny bits,
a fate, she thought, it strangely fits,
A splatter on the ground below,
it's what remains, just slimey goo,
the feds would scratch it of the ground
that's all they ever might have found.

And yet she stood, again remaining
Her body burnt and still sustaining

Why? She asked, am I still here?

Maybe there's others still to bear?


An angel she had become, an angel of death.

She embraced it, she didn't like it.




The pencil had become boring, her flesh number than numb.

Not even a bullet to the head would do her now.

Nor could the searing flames.

Maybe a pit of lava could, but she feared it might hurt.

And giggled at the thought.


She lost track of how many she had found, and disposed of.

They were insignificant, only became important if they got what they wanted.

But no one was to die, there was always one more guilty to die instead.

Night, city, dark and wet.
Hers to decide who she must get.
A figure dark and hooded too.
A victim now, as if he knew.
A knife, a flash, a gush of red.
Another figure soon is dead.
Another victim still runs free.
Another murder had to be.

But was this right, or was this wrong?
She'd lost the track a long time gone.
Who were the victims of her spree?
Who would they murder, left to be?


A soldier never to ask questions.

Following orders of a tiny voice in her head.

The voice that told her she died a long time ago.

She had long forgotten,
the reason for her revenge.

But there was no pain.