She was on the ground, cradling her lover’s head in her arms, slowly rocking back and forth. At this point she had stopped calling for him, begging him to wake up and that if this was a joke, it wasn’t at all funny. Yet it seemed kinda funny because even though her life wasn’t the one that was lost, she felt like it was. It was kind of like a betrayal in some ways, he had given up on life and on her, it had seemed and yet there she stayed holding him as her clothes soaking with his blood. He had abandoned her, leaving her for his own sanity, not at all considering hers. At this point, the tears had stopped, and she couldn’t quite pick what to feel whether it was supposed to be emptiness, anger, sorrow, no there were much too many options. She felt as though she should be grieving, but she didn’t know what for, the loss of his life, or her own. Something interrupted her thoughts, a shiny piece of metal that had caught her eye, and she dropped his body to the ground as she reached for it. Blood pooled all around her, as she fiddled with it in her hands. A gun. Oh, she gave up -- no relinquished-- the idea of grieving at all, in fact, he had wronged her. He had wronged her in such a way, she couldn’t bare it. Slowly she brought the revolver to her head. Yes. He had wronged her. And now she shall wrong him.
It was never something she had intended to do.
But you know what they say, eye for an eye.