I felt cold.
I moved to close the window,
but I noticed it had been broken out.
I turned on the furnace,
but heard only the knocks
from pipes long since removed.

I was alone -
there was no telephone.
And no neighbors.
They had moved out a long time ago,
at least the one's who were ever there.

I cried.
I bathed myself in the blood I helped spill.
I covered myself in blankets
held together with hatred.

I blamed it all on gut reaction.
Following that...
not them.

It was my soul that was spilled,
not those that I had destroyed.

The house was my prison, my punishment.

But what was I taught,
what was it that I learned?

The broken-down loneliness only served
to remove the monster from the world
physically, and nothing else.

But it lived on, in their memories,
centuries and generations on.

I gasped, but vengeance had removed everything fit to breathe.