He takes deep, slow breaths as he marches forward purposefully. He had thought of doing this many times but never once had he thought he would translate that to action. Now enough is enough, he won’t take anymore. He tries to steady his breathing, keeping his head down in case he gives himself away to a passing neighbour. Not that he looked suspicious, but felt it.

His heart nearly bursts through his chest as he turns the last corner. His destination right ahead of him, nothing out of the ordinary could be hinted from examining the exterior; however the exterior is not his concern. He feels strong; anyone would feel strong, he muses, when they are carrying a revolver under their jacket.

He stops at the door; it’s not too late he says to himself. Even as he does he raises his hand and knocks his knuckles hard against the door. He isn’t even angry anymore, but revenge is a motive set apart from anger. An implacable, destructive motive that drives him and one that no amount of reasoning, emotion or pleading will alter now.

Footsteps behind the door, a rattle as the owner looks for the door key. Ignorant that he is about to welcome his own demise by the simple, mundane act of answering his door.

Quietly he pulls the gun from his pocket, he quickly glances either side of himself. Now it is too late, but his heart hasn’t faltered. This must be done, for the sake of vengeance, for the sake of pride and in the vain hope that the comforting thud of his foe dropping dead would sooth his own pain.

A creak and the door opens, behind it a face. One of intrigue first, followed by a welcoming smile. He raises the gun and the face contorts into shock as its owner realises what is happening. No regrets, he looks deep into his victim’s eyes. No second chances, he takes pleasure in desperation as the prey starts to turn.  Only revenge; a loud bang, a shout and then a thud.

It’s done.

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