Words bring back old thoughts. Thoughts turn into words. They all bring her back in time. And this is the silver gun, the oldest gun pointed towards her. She knows very well how just one fire shot decides how it all goes by.

If she only says one word, a whisper, a cry to the child lost in their crime, she pulls the trigger.

It was her mother’s promise that she must follow, to live through it all, without pain, without hurt, without death. But this means nothing, it means lack of emotion. There isn’t life without struggle.

So, her mind goes darker and darker, searching and searching, but never hopping.

She knows how her only hope died right in her arms. And she can’t forget. She won’t forgive.

She won’t spell their name. Not yet