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A little snippet from a story I wrote a long time ago. I had started it and as intending on finishing however I didn't really think much more needed to be added. Anything else might just ruin it, this just leaves you to float in curiosity.

 

She walked over towards his body, lying there stiffly as ever. She approached him apprehensively. Slowly she kneeled down next to what she prayed was now a corpse. He appeared to have no life left in his body, and there were blood stains all over his pint striped suit. However, those could have been from before. She laid a hand on his breathless chest and leaned over him. She smirked slightly at the lack of movement and an overwhelming sense of relief swept over her. The man who had once caused her so much torment was now pathetically laid to decompose, with her to thank. She took one last satisfied look at him and began to rise to her feet. Just then he forcefully grasped her wrist and began to laugh, that taunting, aggravating laugh that always made her blood boil. He laughed loudly and clearly, and too her horror began to sit up.

            “Have I taught you nothing darling? You always shoot twice to kill.”

He released his grip on her and she slid backwards across the dusty old hardwood floors. She leant up against the covered up furniture, with her legs sprawled in a heap in front of her, and stared at him with wide eyes. Her head rushed with an overwhelming nauseating sensation. She should have checked for bullet holes, and a pulse. Faking death was the type of cruel joke he loved to conduct. Once again she had failed. It did not matter if she was conducting an act of good or evil; in either respect she was incompetent.