On a cold, blustery evening, a lonely figure stood by a gravestone barely moving. A small car trundled down the road making him flinch but he quickly recovered, it was just a late night drunkard going home. From behind the headstone he could see down the cemetery's steep hillside to the open grave below, awaiting the funeral that would take place the next day. The headstone was tall and he could just see over it when he stood to his full 6'2". His long hair fluttered in the wind, brushing against the bloody tip of his broken nose. He stood there waiting as he had been for two hours fingering the gun in his pocket. He would have revenge!

A short way down the hill stood a mausoleum; a tall, sinister building. Every few meters a broken headstone lay on the floor where vandals had tipped them over on drunken rampages. The mausoleum stood grey and dark against the night sky, clumps of moss and ivy clinging to the walls. The wind whistled through cracks in the gravestones making an eerie musical sound.

A 4x4 pulled up outside the gates and a woman stepped out. She was wearing jeans and a purple turtleneck under her worn black leather jacket. Her short, dark hair stood spiked and rustled in the wind. The man looked down on her, taking in her beauty and how she had grown over the years. The dust on the road began to settle and he could see that the, now empty, vehicle was dark green, the colour he knew her eyes would be if he could see them from here.

The woman moved toward the mausoleum which towered dauntingly over her small frame and she walked cautiously up the hill. From the top he watched her progress as she climbed, slipping on a moss-covered tombstone. As she drew near the mausoleum she slowed down looking around her. She saw no one and tentatively tried the gate, it was locked. She pulled out a key, inserted it and gently twisted it, then pushed the gate open and entered. The man above crept down to the gate. He could see her shadow in the moonlight crouched by her mothers' tomb. She had placed fresh flowers in the vase and was whispering something.

Suddenly, a gust of wind slammed the gate shut. She jumped and turned around. There, standing in the moonlight she saw him, her brother, recently escaped from the prison she had put him in. She got to her feet and slowly walked toward him but stopped when she saw that, glinting in the moonlight, he had a gun aimed directly at her chest. He fired once, twice, three times and she lay still, collapsed on the floor with blood accumulating around her body.

He came in through the gate and wrapped her in a cloth he had brought with him. Then, laying her in an old tomb with a pile of bones that was once an ancestor of theirs, he carefully mopped up the spilled blood, set fire to the cloth he used and scattered the ashes to the wind. Then, picking up his gun, he carefully closed the gate, locked it and walked down the hill calmly removing his gloves and disposing of them as he passed a nearby waste bin. He looked back at his family's resting place then turned and walked away.