A Distant Echo
New York, 1977
The blood sang in him like living fire, an exhilarating burning rush of joy. He could taste it on his lips. He could smell her; shampoo, sweat, adrenaline and the coppery metal tang of blood. He was bathing in it...
Hang on. He sniffed the coat he'd stripped from her, realising her smell still clung to it. He held it up against his face, imbibing her perfume, remembering her death. His other hand reached down, unfastening his zip, reliving the motions of the fight in short, sharp strokes until he roared in triumph, white splattering across black in the darkness.
Special bonus soundtrack to listen to while reading this: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hxma8BCV_50&feature=related