Teardrop

If she could she would lay there till she died. If she could out run death forever she would be running. There is no out come that can satisfy her. If the smell fails, then the dreams will push her. One or the other, something will move her.

She has no answer for why I remade her. With no explanation she can’t bear to face the dead just meters from her. Unlike the seven who walked, for her survival is not an end in it self. A choice can not be avoided, something will move her.

Vengeance can be liken to vapour, each lacking substance. Yet still can fill any space they find themselves in. I will not let my eighth witness go to waste. So I place a drop of my vengeance with in her. One way or the other something will move her.