Echoing Footsteps

She sits alone, as quiet as a mouse.
She'd slipped away unnoticed by the man
And found the darkest corner of the house
To contemplate and formulate her plan.
He'd come home drunk and angry once again.
He'd hit her hard—and often—with his fist.
Blood spatters on the wall had left a stain.
Her neighbors heard but no one would assist.
So now, she waits in darkness with a knife
To make the fiend pay dearly for his crimes.
To yield to sleep will cost this man his life,
For he has hurt her for the final time.
The sound of footsteps walking through the door
Will be the last he hears, then breathe no more.