Justice

I wrote this a long time ago and have since had to edit it just a bit as writing styles changes even within one’s self. It’s a little disjointed, but I like the intention and I hope you do too.

Justice

The organ waned in the background as the scene unfolded like on old B-movie in black and white ignorant of the man lost in the shadows.

He blended well with the darkness, his dark clothing and timid nature made him easily forgotten, and he liked it that way now. He stood silently observing the proceedings with disdain, separating himself from the joy he watched over. He was invited to be here, yet no one expected him to show, for he never had before. He did this time, not because he simply wanted to upset the balance, but to shed the necessary single tear in remembrance. He could turn and leave without anyone the wiser, but he stayed, though in actuality he was barely there for he was lost in his memories.

He remembered better times, when things stood still at a moments thought, when an inspirational moment led to endless adventures and curious situations, when he was greeted with a cheer and a toast where ever he went. But no more. Now he was far from those days and those ways. Like many, his life had turned in a moment.

He was barely that person now, the one to instigate juvenile behavior well into his adult years, and not just within himself. Back then he had a following, a light in his eyes that reflected defiance for his situation, and it made everyone around him better. The reason for it was simple, he had to be positive in light of the disease ravaging his muscles turning him into a cripple. He was almost to the point of having to wear braces on his legs just to walk while the medication he took kept him in a constant haze. He cared for neither the disease nor the drugs holding it off, but he was not slowed down by either, also.

Now, though, he was simpler, contained, restrained, but just as things changed, so did his life.

With college complete and his life beginning, he sought out the world despite his condition and it could’ve been his. Then, in an instant, it all changed in a flash on humanity and desperation. He barely understood what he had done, though he knew the why of it, but that didn’t matter as it was over in seconds. He was still amazed as life, his life, could change so much so quickly.

It happened fast when it did and before it had even begun, it was over. The tragedy played itself out in his mind, just as it had on the video, in blocking images. The scene was a common one in its simplicity, as act everyone had done as one point in their life. He had simply hobbled into the doors of a convenience store. In a flash, the three men entered brandishing guns demanding submission. Panic ruled the occupants, all but him. He didn’t understand why or even how, but he saw reflected in the gunmen’s face the deaths of a dozen innocent people, though they were not the people in the store with him. He saw the faces and gruesome deaths these men would commit in the future. One by one these twelve innocent, seemingly detached, people’s faces bore into his mind, his soul. And as he looked at each of the gunmen he saw their hearts and knew them for what they were, for what they would do.

Without thought he reacted despite his crippled body.

He reached forward to the closest gunmen even as a shot rang out and his mind reeled, but he didn’t slow. Grabbing the gun, he spun unnaturally quick bringing his elbow around into the gunman’s jaw collapsing him while wrenching the gun from the unconscious man’s grasp before he dropped. Then, almost off-handedly, the muzzle dropped and he sent a bullet into the man’s forehead. Just as quickly, he turned the gun on the others as more shots rang out, but he only saw the other gunmen drop in a deathly silence as he fired twice. He watched as the two men fell to the floor like rag dolls with blood dripping from between their eyes. Despite never having used one before, the gun dropped from his hand as what happened came back to him. And in his crippled state, he found his balance on the counter beside him.

Within minutes the police arrived along with the paramedics, but by then only body bags were needed. He gave his statement along with the others, looking back on the gruesome event not believing what occurred. In a daze, he was questioned and released, left to wander back to his home contemplating the truth. Days later he was arrested on three charges of man-slaughter.

Within a year, he was tried and convicted despite his good deed because the twelve members of the jury saw the cold nature in which he executed the gunmen. The video was hard to deny, even to him self. He was labeled a stone-cold killer, though he was only protecting the lives of the innocent. Strangely, the twelve people of the jury were the same innocent twelve he saw within the gunmen’s mind that night, though how could he explain that. How could he tell the jury he’d saved each of their lives that night when he killed those three men?

Fourteen years later he was released on good behavior, and here he stood, a shadow of a man watching what should be happening to himself as a single tear traced down his cheek as he watched the love of his life exchange vows with his best friend from college. And the organ waned.

In pain, he turned, and moved to the doors of the chapel, his cane and leg braces slowing his progress.

To this day he holds onto two secrets. The first is the smile the devil gave him in the courtroom as the jury announced its verdict. He recognized the devil for who he was, the man directly behind him in the courtroom, but he was unable to do anything about it. He did however realize the irony of the event, convicted by those he saved. The second secret he held was the eight holes he found in his shirt when he reached home, as if four bullets passed right through him during the gun fire. Neither instance he could explain to anyone, so therefore he told no one.

He pushes through the doors of the chapel into the bright sun and begins to hobble down the steps. He leaves, but he allows himself the one tear, the only one he can manage. In a sense he gave up his life, his love, his happiness, for fourteen years of incarceration, but it had been worth it. And if given the chance he’d do it again in a heartbeat. There was no question in his mind about that because in those few short seconds he was the hand of god. He had felt god’s presence within him, felt himself become the avenging angel, felt the righteousness of his actions.

To this day he doesn’t feel remorse, the same thing the jury saw in him over fourteen years ago, but none of that matters now. What matters is he saw the nature of god and he lives for a second chance of doing god’s work.