There was something satisfying in the way the hammer leaned towards the floor, the weight of the head outweighing that of the shaft as she held it loosely within her grasp. A grasp that soon stiffened, her knuckles whitening.
The first blow sent a spray of blood quite some distance, covering her as well as the head of the hammer now being used as a weapon. She vented her anger vocally as the second shattered the bone of his skull as blood oozed like spilt milk across the bed sheets.
There were no screams of pain, no resistance to her furious blows. He never woke from the sleep he was in when she entered the room. After the fifth blow, the bloodied pulp that remain on the pillow barely resembled that of the man that wronged her.