There he sits alone in the dark under a weeping willow tree. His purpose is hidden, out of sight from all those who might seek answers or a reasoning. Who is he? I cannot answer that for you. You’ll have to figure that out on your own, if you can.
So there he sits on a dirty old bench looking across a field at a distant house. Darkness surrounds everything around him, shadows nonexistent. His attention is captivated by the house, light pours out of the windows of the old country home. It was beautiful, reminding him somewhat of Christmas when his family would put lights on the house. Oh how he loved his family, they are the reason why he does what he does now. Sitting there for what seemed hours he never looked away. It was too far away to make out any distinctive shapes inside but screams started echoing across the field. He sat up straight and just as he closed his eyes and tried to focus in on the sounds it stopped as suddenly as it had started.
He has come accustomed to this life, doing what needs be done. It’s not about the law; never was it about the law. It is about doing what is right. Well that’s what he tells himself anyway. A few seconds pass before he sits back to his original slumping posture and waits. Waits for what he knows will come next. It always happens. One way or another it keeps happening and he has to do what is right. His purpose in life.
Drip, drip, drip. What is that? It couldn’t be rain. The weather is supposed to be beautiful and he didn’t hear it raining around him, just a lone dripping sound. The sound echoes but from where. He looks around and sees nothing but the dripping continues. He looks behind him and still nothing. Looking down toward his feet he sees something dripping on his right shoe. He reaches down and touches his shoe but it is covered and it doesn’t feel like water, it feels sticky and somewhat thicker. Brushing up against his right leg, he finds his entire right leg is covered in this unknown substance. He nervously feels his right arm and it is covered as well. Starting to freak out he notices something behind him. Slowly he turns to his right and sees a hand reaching toward his neck. He swiftly grabs the hand and yanks it toward him as he is struck with such a force that he is knocked out.
He didn’t know how long he had been laying on the ground unconscious, but as he regained his senses he realized several people were pinning him down to the ground. He struggled to get up but they wouldn’t let him go. He kicked and squirmed and tried everything possible but he couldn’t budge. There he lay pinned down with his left side against the ground, motionless trying to hear what his captures had to say. They were quiet, too quiet. He begins talking to them, asking them to let him up. Still they refused with their silence.
Behind him he could hear a truck rumbling toward him, the roaring of the engine got louder as the headlights started to shine on him and illuminate the scene he had become entangled. Much to his horror all the people holding him down weren’t holding him down at all. They were all dead. The blood covered mangled bodies of countless people were strewn atop him pinning him down. He frantically tried to escape again without much success. Before he could do anything else the door of a truck slammed and he instinctively tried to look back, out of the corner of his eye he could see someone. A silhouette of someone in front of the truck’s headlights standing there looking back at him. Their eyes connected and the guy walked back to his truck and a few seconds later came back holding something. He couldn’t tell what it was. The guy came closer and just a feet behind him he lifted it up into the air and just then he realized what it was and tried to move away. A glimmer of light reflected off of its surface as it furiously came towards him.
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Kristopher (ESJ)
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