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She found herself sitting on the path of memories she'd yet not traveled to. There were reasons. She ignored them. And found she had been far to gracious and forgiving. She did not understand why the pain still hurt. Why the lies that stabbed her, still bled. She didn't understand why her tears were still salty. Why she could still remember the taste. Friendship. The knife was sharp. She pulled it out of her back. Pushing back what was left of her heart. There was a scar from the same knife. The same fingerprints were left on the handle as well. Easily identified. Not easily forgiven. It hurts more when it's someone trusted. She couldn't move anymore. Everything was black. Everything was red. Confusion. Anger. Rage. The blood poured. Which made her more angry. Which made the blood boil. Her blood was a fire. Burning the flesh. She wanted the gentle embrace of peace. But that would be far too easy. Her day had been too good. Something had to be taken from her.