It was going to be an easy job. Get in, do something, get out. It wasn't much, the reasons for doing it were rather more intellectual than financial. I was making a point, kind of like Robin Hood. But she was there. The thing was done, she could see it. She wasn't in a position to stop me. She looked at me, sized me up, found me lacking. Something was terribly ugly on her face when she howled and threw herself at me, shouting all the time. It was like I have offended her on a personal level, like she wouldn't take defeat, one that was obvious at the time we've met.

So I did it. In fear, panic more likely, with all my power, I stabbed her with the screwdriver I've used to get in. I did it once, twice, three times. I didn't believe that it was so easy to stick something that long in a human being so easily, through clothes, skin, meat... She looked at me, with annoyed surprize, my screwdriver dripping blood, her official looking shirt dirtied by three horrible red dots, she looked at me for the longest of moments, her face showing angry disaproval, hateful disgust.

Then she attacked again, with renewed force, in silence, which actually made her even scarier, like a demon from hell. Her face contorted by unmistakeable hate, she pushed me with all her strength, trying to claw at my eyes. All I could do is let me be pushed, holding her arms, trying to defend myself, until I reached a stair rail with my back. We couldn't go any further and starting from a mischievous thing, the simplest of things, I was fighting for my life with a witch which I've just stabbed, but didn't die. So I tried to throw her down the stair case, three floors down, which I am sure would have killed her.

But she clang to me, she knew she would fall, but instead of thinking of saving her life, she pulled at me, trying to make me fall with her. She wanted me hurt, dead, she wanted to avenge something terribly ugly from her own life, which, I am sure now, had nothing to do with me personally. She was scarred, long before I got there, with my bloody Johnson screwdriver. But right then, the only thing I could think about was I was going to die. But I didn't. Somehow I landed safely on a stair underneath, while the hag took the plunge.

She didn't die, though. Clinging to me has slowed her fall, so now she was sprawled on the floor downstairs, mumbling something, her legs in an awkard position. I went to her, partly because I wanted to get out, and I had to use the stairs, partly because I wanted to see her, to see what I have done, my brain in shock, yet sickly curios about the bloody mess I have caused.

She was clearly dying, her face wasn't wrinkled in hate anymore, she looked... peaceful. But she was alive and she looked at me with something resembling love or something similar. All her scars were gone in that moment and her thoughts, or what had remained of them after hitting the floor with her head, weren't evil anymore. There was no anger on her face and that made her look, well, beautiful. She was about 50, maybe more, but she looked like someone good at heart, like an innocent child.

So I did the only thing I could have. I kneeled next to her, I took her head in my hands, conforted her for a moment, telling her it will not hurt for long, then I snapped her neck. It isn't so easy as in the movies, I had to try several times, making this more of a mess than it already was. When I heard the snap, like in a chicken's neck, I turned her head in the other way, just to make sure that she was dead, not paralysed or feeling pain in any way.

Of course, That wouldn't have made it all better, I have done all of that, and I knew it, and my soul was crying and a huge depression engulfed me, like I had killed a part of me. And I also knew that no one would have waited for her home. She was this spiteful angry hateful person that no one liked, that stayed at the work place during the night because there was nothing waiting for her outside. I was sure that the members of her family would feel partly relieved that she was dead. And the only person that saw her beautiful, the only person that saw, even for the briefest moments, beyond that wall of negative emotions, was the man that had killed her.

At the time, struggling with all my strength to break that woman's neck, I had wished that I was more efficient in stabbing her, less panicked, maybe sticking her in the heart, killing her instantly, but now I know I was meant to see that beautiful face, that it couldn't go any other way, that I was meant to see that face looking at me, with an innocent sadness, for the rest of my life.


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