It starts with the right pace – that steady, implacable rhythm in my stride, the sun blood red behind me, my shadow gripping a sword in its hand though my own is empty.
First he sends his troops. They are easy, scattering as I brush them away with barely an effort. The rest fly in confusion. They will warn him but there is nothing he can do now.
Next there are cars and guns and aircraft, but heaven’s fire cuts through the air into my heart and flies out of my hands. Searing justice twists their metal into unrecognisable shapes, and blasts them into oblivion. My shadow’s sword glows red in the gathering dusk.
Finally he is standing there before me, trembling, with terror in his eyes. Revenge served cold sucks away the soul; revenge served hot is surely life’s very heart. The sword is in my hand now, flaming with truth. I swing it just once and his body crumples at my feet.
Great love and great anger should end in the death of the one they embrace. I am alive, left with nothing but this dull emptiness inside me and the sound of the sirens in the distance.