Amedea’s wrinkles stem from anger.
Her daughter carries the scars.
Rest cannot be found in her lap.
Amedea is a slow and passive killer.
She stood in front of his house.
Her body shallow.
Her mind expectant.
She knew though.
The lights were off.
He had no intent.
The story leading up to the culminating point drove her here.
Was that all he wanted?
All these insane efforts?
Amedea carries a weapon in her purse next to her wedding ring.
She stares at the shut door, disillusioned, furious.
Amedea is not stupid.
Struggling to divulge the weapon.
She fears what it symbolises.
Everybody would know, could see.
That she is a woman who lost it all and has nowhere to go.