Standing over the lifeless body which lay on a double mahogany bed, his hand trembled with anger as his fist was clenched with blanched knuckles, nails digging deeply into the sweating palms of his hand.
Her screams still surged through his veins. Her eyes still wide with terror, mouth rigid and open from her pleads and cries of pain.
Tears which had settled on her glistening cheeks refracted the dim yellow light, to make a shining river, while sweat from the struggle matted her chestnut hair which lay in a tangle on the pillow.
Her white night dress and the bed linen were now the same colour as the dress he had first met her in, and the same colour of her lips even now, even after her last breath had passed them. The crimson complemented her chipped golden finger nails which lay clutching the bed sheets in a lifeless fists either side of her.
The scarlet stream that had once given her life, created a sea that seemed to encompass her now frail body. Cloths and towels sodden with her blood were like ships, still in the wreckage that surrounded them, as if in mourning. And like the ocean, her ses was not a simple scarlet. No, on the shores were shades of hibiscus tea, and raspberries, swirled into one like a toddler would draw. The deeper one got, the darker the stains became: spilt claret turned into the deeper shades of burgundy, maroon, and sangria, all fighting for territory.
Her eyes stared at him. Into him. Those eyes which he had fallen in love with. Green eyes predominantly, but not a just green. A green on the verge of yellow, with blue seeping in on the sides, threatening to take over, blue dotted the iris like a night sky.
He bent down and knelt beside the bed; he raised two blood stained fingers to her eyelids and gently closed them.
He turned in anger towards the bastard that had done this to his wife. Maybe if he had pled, or tried to reason, he could have lived. But all he did was cry that high pitched wail. Tears of sadness turned into tears of anger. His hands stopped trembling as he made a fist around the bastard's neck. Knuckles blanched and breathing heavily he clenched his fist tighter and tighter until the wailing became croaked gasps, and the gasps became... nothing. The relief of silence came sooner than he had expected. But what had he expected? The bastard had only been born a few moments ago.
