In my nightmare that night I was strangling Bridgette, over and over again.
I woke up sweating bullets.

She had no idea the effect her leaving me had. I wanted to kill her, but my love for her was too strong.
In every person I met, I saw Bridgette in my minds eye.

After that last kill, I felt relief for a time.

But I would kill again. I knew it. I had no regret. No care. No fear of getting caught. I am immortal now. Nothing can touch me. Nothing can hurt me. Not like she hurt me. I am immune.

I couldn’t get back to sleep. It was almost 3 AM. I got dressed and went out for a walk. I had my knife and rope with me. I never knew which weapon I wanted to use. I knew a gun was too removed. Not personal enough. Not thrilling enough.
I needed contact with my victim.

A pretty young girl all dolled up for the evening strolled across the street from me.
I approached, “Do you have a light?”, I asked holding out my cigarette.

“Those’ll kill ya, ya know mista,” was the last thing she ever said.