You'll have to excuse Boohbah, Mxy. She's unaquainted with the subtle nuances of minimalist literature; subsisting on a mental diet of Neil Gaiman and Labyslash will do that to you.
Now this isn't to say that the story doesn't work as is - trust me when I say that the emotional effect of reading it is like a swift uppercut of joy to the chin - though I certainly wouldn't be averse to a lengthier sequel regarding the funeral. Who will be there? Who will weep? Who will spit on her grave? Who will dig up her corpse, gnaw on it like chew-toy, and rebury her under the pachysandra?
I smell Pulitzer.
From the womb to the tomb, presume the unpredictable Guns salute life rapidly, that's the ritual