First strike back... 2

As the fire intensifies, a shadows steals from the burning house. The High Priest. I take after him, easing the gun from my waistband. He stops abruptly, faces me, carefully avoiding my gaze.
'You won't do it', he said, pointing to the gun.
He's right. I don't have what it takes. I'm not a cold blooded executioner. But I call on the scarred little girl buried deeply within myself, striving, thirsty for vengeance.
It is her who takes aim, her who empties the barrel, her who kicks him savagely when he's down, but it's me who retches in the snow.