The traffic light flashes to a lighter shade of grey as she takes a right turn, into the cul-de-sac lined with ashen trees.
She hasn’t been here for fifteen years. Back when the grass was green and the doors of the white-gated houses the deepest of reds. She was happy here once. Long ago.
Somehow, dipped in grey, the neighbourhood has more class . She half expects Clark Gable to come jogging by or seeing Jean Harlow loading the groceries out of her convertible. Life in shades of grey lends itself to that kind of nostalgia, she has found.
It does not make her task any easier. She hasn’t returned to Sweetgum Lane to dip her toe in a sugar-sweet past. She is here to bury the ghosts once and for all.
The mansion at the end of the cul-de-sac still looks immaculate, surrounded by trimmed rose bushes, with ivy crawling along the edges of its walls. You’d never guess it is the same house that has haunted her for the best part of two decades.
As she rides up the driveway her spine tingles. She has long fantasized about this moment. She has planned it in minute detail. The words she’ll say. The image she wants to burn onto his retina for an eternity in hell. But now, on the cusp of execution, she hesitates. She suddenly doubts whether this gruesome deed will procure a less troubled future.
Yet she walks the final couple of yards to the front door with pride, her sweaty palm clenching the gun.
Fate may have made her an inhabitant of a world with nuances of grey now the cones in her eyes have dwindled to a handful and taken the colour out of her life.
But today black and white will suffice.
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