Watch Out

She glanced over her shoulder, shivering as she felt the past night's events freeze into place. She wouldn't be able to look backwards anymore because her gaze, piercing as it had become, would shatter that delicate icy reflection of the present moment. She cradled the gun, unsure of the object in a way she had not been before she had fired it: then it had had a function; now, what was it for? It's usefulness, like the bullet buried in Connor's chest, had been discharged. Could she pass it off as a crime of passion? unlikely, for most people who knew her would never use that word to describe her. The car would take her away from here and she wished some of its hue would flow into the sky and dispel the accusing red that gathered like blood in the clouds. The world knew what she had done and was turning away from her. She knew what her story would be -- a femme fatale who had engineered the whole sordid mess when she got greedy for the money her man was keeping from her. Yes, she had thought he was stiffing her ... and yes, she had intended to have it out with him. But he pulled a gun first. Self defence wouldn't fly though, so she would have to. Swiftly away she would go, but migrating for colder climes instead, where the heat would not be on her.