Blood flooded from the countless corpses on the ground, the same blood covering her already dirty clothes. There she stood, her sword covered with the red of thousands of men, thousands of men who decided to hurt.
So she hurt them, like they hurt her kind.
"I am no woman..."
She spoke, her tone heavy with the tears of all those women torn apart just for having a uterus. Her voice almost like a whisper, consumed by all the years of trying to talk it out. The skin of her face, sore for all those tears, and rehydrated by the blood of the guilty.
"...I am vengeance."
YOU ARE READING
Hatred
SpiritualA series of things I write when I'm upset, mostly angry, and I thought that maybe some of you could be interested. TW: - Suicide - Blood - Violence - Sexual assault - ...
