Consequence
Andrew R Crow


I wish I could say:
ďThis is what happened:
I didnít take the shot.
He didnít die.
No morbidity.
No lividity.
No corpus delicti.
He lived to kill another day.Ē
But no, thatís bullshit.
He did die.
Both of them, in fact.
Man and boy.
Guilty and innocent.
Because I DID take the shot.
Regardless of the consequences.
Iíd waited for him.
Followed him.
Traced his every move.
For weeks.
Sat in the brush.
Watched his house.
Studied my books.
Learned about the DISTINCT function.
And NULL values.
And studied him.
Watched him.
Learned his habits.
And he was a man of habit.
Every morning.
7:15.
Take the son to school.
No matter what else the sonofabitch was, he was a caring father.
And always alone.
None of his muscle men.
And this morning was THE morning.
When I would take my shot.
And rid the world of this scum.
The fucker that murdered my wife.
Not that he actually did it.
No, he had employees for that.
Ones who intimidated witnesses.
And got rid of them if they didnít crumble.
So I took my shot.
Just as the kid jumped in his arms.
For a hug?
Who knows.
All I know is the shot took him out.
Milliseconds before his father.
I got what I wanted.
And more.
Iím still hiding here.
But the cops are closing in.
I guess itís up to God now.
One will go to Heaven.
But how many will go to Hell?

First published: February, 2009
comments to the writer: doorknobsandbodypaint@gmail.com