Vignettes

The gun feels heavy and righteous in my hand as I stare down my enemy.  Blood flushes my system like a bullet train, punching a steady thump thump in my chest.

This is what it feels like to be alive for the first time in a long time.  This is what it feels like to find justice. No… to take justice.  The system has failed the good and decent folk of the world.  It has been twisted into a labyrinth that only serves to protect the bad people.  They kill and rape and destroy all that is good and precious in us.  And they get away with it.

Not this time.  Not this guy.  You’re not going to walk away from what you did, you son of a bitch.

I see the cold, paleness of her face everytime I close my eyes.  The scent of her perfume haunts the house.  And the child wakes up screaming for her absent Mother four times a night.  I rock her back to sleep through teary rebuttals, searching for explanations that do not come.

The sound of your muffled, gagged screams is like music in my black heart.   I am tempted to taste your salty tears, to drink your fear delicious fear. 

But I just pull back the hammer instead. The scent of gunpowder fills my nostrils, satisfying a voracious hunger.  I walk across the blood splattered floor and spit on your corpse. 

Rot in hell motherfucker.

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