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Red was all Boone could see. The figure of that woman, that devil, in his scope was tainted by red. Boone pulled the trigger and watched as her head exploded, gore flying all over the place. It was done, all he had been wanting to do ever since he found out about Carla being sold. Yet, he didn’t feel happy.
The Courier, a young man with a cunning smile, rushed to meet him and return his beret. Still covered in blood and brains despite having tried his best to clean away, which Boone had watched happen through his scope.
Boone asked how he had known it was her who did it, and he showed him the bill of sale. Disgust was the first emotion he had felt since pulling the trigger. She had kept that paper to that day. As if effectively murdering his wife by selling her away to those beasts wasn’t enough.
Soon he was flooded by emotions, none of them akin to the feeling of closure.
Carla. Her smile, her voice, it all seemed to become a more distant memory with each passing second. But the pain never left, not even when he made the one who took her from him pay. Instead, it engraved itself onto his brain, taking up space of what used to be treasured moments with the love of his life.
Not that it mattered. Carla was dead. And soon he would be too.