Kind of a random story, that wasn't perfect, but I decided to submit it anyways. It's pretty rough around the edges, and I haven't gotten around to editing it. I'll hopefully edit it sometime in the near future so it'll be better! yay! Lol Enjoy or try to.

The Victor

The land was destitute, dry, and painfully silent. Anyone who was unfortunate enough to pass this scene might have puked, fainted, or if anything; been scarred for life. The land was dirt but the scene was red and dotted with black and green. Nobody with a soul could have stood another two seconds along that plain. However those with broken souls, or worse, broken hearts, just might have been able too.

The girl. No. The woman, as she so carefully deserved the name, stood with her arms crossed and her feet planted carefully on the ground. What she might have given to be that girl again, the one who smiled at her feeble brained friend's fumbles, or cried at cruel children's antics. Or be that naïve girl whose heart throbbed at a cold boy's words, but perhaps, you don't lose all things upon womanhood.

Anyone could have looked upon that girl in that scene and have thought she was very lucky to be alive. That she must be very strong and very powerful; which was true. It would have been very easy for anyone to have looked upon that girl and said with ease, victory was hers and hers alone. But if they looked really closely they would have seen the tears streaming down her face, tears that hadn't graced the smooth surface of her face for 20 years yet. But no matter how hard they looked they'd never see the poor girl's heart, the one that was broken. They'd never see how unlucky that girl felt to be alive.

Revenge. The word that bleeds hate into your bones. It's what made her loose him. Twice. Once the word that drove him away. Twice the word that drove her to him. He had gotten his, a million lives; the price and just one life too many. She'd lost her best friend to him and to her own heart she swore revenge. And she had gotten hers. Maybe a little too easily.

Or not easy enough. You'd think after 15 years, it'd be a little easier to get up in the morning. You'd think after 18 bloody years you'd stop waiting, stop dreaming. You'd think after 2 years of deliberately planning revenge, you'd stop loving. Just stop.

She fell to her knees, her carefully pinned faded pink hair finally undoing itself around her face. Her blood soaked hands ran themselves through raven hair, hands that shook in the knowledge that she had stolen the life of two lives that day. His. And Hers.

She laughed an unheard cry of pain, as several tears dotted the empty face beneath her. Empty of cold grimaces, or scandalous smirks, or even stitched brows of annoyance. A face that was never hers to hold. Eyes that never looked at her until it was too late. A nose not trained enough to sense the poison drifting through the air. And a mouth that whispered "sorry" as it gave it's final breath.

Yes, she was the victor.