As a secondary shadow, less fatal half of a devil, a blunt claw of a monster, she traveled with him over the dry earth and forgotten mudflats for ages. She was fourteen years old when she met him and on the June of 1999 she turned twenty-nine. Dusty trailer park by the interstate fifteen, the one that will never see her again, was located ten miles east of St. George Utah. Half asleep, she spoke with a soft voice "...will bring you...my…love."

Buzzing sound of neon lights over the mess she was in, has been constant for more than ten hours. It was noon and her eyelids disobeyed the "preseptal orbicular is oculi" muscle. Smudges of makeup covered the edges of her incredibly perfect and symmetric face. She was lying in a bathtub filled with broken glass and shattered bottlenecks. Twisted and distorted pool of blood and booze at the bottom of the tub was in a slow but constant stream towards the drain. She could hear it again, the singing in her head, tunes of salvation and a harmony of forgiveness. "Ain't it the life, got no crime, just sail on by, sail on by." Her petite body was in a fetal position, motionless and stiff. She was so incredibly beautiful and so immensely broken. Her skin was covered with cuts and random tiny wounds. They were a remnant of  despair, abuse and a downfall. She was wearing a plain black top, red hot pants with a hot rod flame pattern going over her buttocks. She grabbed the edge of a tub and rolled herself  around in to a seating position. With every motion she made, small broken fragments of glass rolled of her body making a distinctive clinking sound. With a sudden and swift motion she managed to sling herself out and on to the white and wet tiled floor. She was crawling for a bit, slowly flicking the little pieces of glass in front of her. Thick trail of blood followed her while she was desperately crawling on her hands and knees, towards the daylight. She managed to reach the door frame, where she stood up and shook the wetness and the filth of her hands and body. 

Here eyes, highlighted with a black eyeliner, were wide open, exposing the very glare of delirium and blood boiling anger. She has stumbled towards the living room, slowly mumbling her favorite song "I was born in a desert, I've been down for years, Jesus come closer, I think my time is near." In a drunken lurch she tripped over a pair of black Dr Martens. Her body fell down softly but uncontrollably, like a dandelion seed sucked in to a downdraft. Her fingertips touched the cheap gray fabric of a rug that nevertheless offered more comfort than a cold tiled floor of a bathroom. Her naked and bleeding feet slipped in to the black leather boot, her pale and tattooed arm trembled while she tightening up the laces. She stood up with a will and a confidence, suddenly as she now had more control over her body, over her movement, over her sanity. These boots gave her a solid foundation, they filled the void of missing sobriety. Her brown eyes slowly scanned the room for a sign, a beacon of some sort. A sign of "what the **** do I do now." Those hawk eyes focused on a small yellow refrigerator in the middle distance. She went for it, walked like a mountain lion on a fragile rocky edge. She grabbed the chromed handle of a refrigerator door and yanked them wide open. The whole thing rattled and shook. She took out an open bottle of vodka and spilled the nauseating content all over her pale face, washing down the blood, tears and the makeup. Alcohol filled up her open wounds like a torrent of sudden spring water fills the dry river valley. Yet she did not twitched a bit, she consumed the pain with her anger. She thought to herself that pain was now a part of something else, of someone else from the past, and today it's all about my new me.

Sun rays, those fat slabs of a sun light cut by the window blinds were penetrating the dusty and uncanny atmosphere of a white trash living room that she was in. Her slim body slammed against the black drawer as she tried to gain the balance. She reached in to the upper most drawer where he was keeping his silver shine Beth, his silver beast made out of metal and led. Silver shine Beth was a Smith & Wesson Model 500 revolver. This manmade monster has seen many gas station robberies and some incredibly graphic and obscene violence, as did Aubrey. There, next to the gun, was a box of .50 cal ammo. She took out a bullet, one by one, neatly and placing them in to the drum. Once she filled Beth to the brim, she rolled the drum and locked it in to the gun frame. Vengeance was now a strong wind in her sail of anger, it took her straight towards a bedroom, towards the final compartment of this runaway train wreck. There laid a devil, a corpse, a body of a forty year old male. He was oriented face down, sleeping and snoring, holding a meth pipe in his right hand. After all the years of abuse and torture, she had no reason to repel this flaming sensation of incoming sweet vengeance. No second thoughts were now lingering in her mental limbo, no need to think twice or to turn around, no reason to terminate this final act. She climbed on the bed, grabbed his long bright hair, turned him around and sat on his chest. She pointed the long silvery barrel of a gun between his opening eyes. A glow of  sun light filled his field of view, sudden flare of a sunburst bounced off  Beth and made him blind for a second. It then all came in to a pristine focus as his eyes adjusted to the bright reality, exposing her, the angel of death that she was now, the bad aftertaste, the Valkyrie from a desert. She slowly moved her head closer towards his face, only stopping inches from his nose. Her eyes were frozen, as she was staring in to his rotten soul. She slowly opened her mouth and said in a hate soaking voice "I will now bring you my love. Isn't that what you wanted? How long did you have to wait for this? Here it is, better than any **** trip. Inhale this my lover, inhale this." Three loud gunshots echoed over the desert sky.

Dusty trailer park by the interstate fifteen never saw Aubrey again.