WARNING: This is a product of my sick imagination.
My next story will revolve around the word 'compunction', requested by Alyssa Coffin.
I'm trying to not include the word in my stories since I think it's a greater challenge to describe in other terms what one word might mean. So far, I am enjoying your comments very much. I am thankful that you guys are reading and commenting. This is really fun for me to do!
This post I started at 1 in the morning. I didn't realize it was so late until my sister grumpily told me to stop typing so loud and get off the damn computer :)
Compunction, in dictionary.com's terms, is:
- A feeling of uneasiness or anxiety of the conscience caused by regret for doing wrong or causing pain; contrition;remorse.
- Any uneasiness or hesitation about the rightness of an action.
Here we go!
Shot him right between the eyes. Click, Bang, Boom. I had watched as the velvety, slick color of bright red burst from the opening and splattered onto the wall behind him. The guy slid down dumbly to rest on the floor. His eyes were forever frozen in a state of surprise.
I killed a man today.
It felt good to spit on his corpse and shatter his whole life just like he did with mine. His kill was even quicker than my wife's. I am the good guy in this situation. I didn't torture my victim. Cops say he shot her right leg first. Down she went. Apparently, she begged him to stop, 'take all I have, just don't--' BANG. He shot her other leg, and oh, did she cry. Only after he was done with her did he finally shoot her brains out, leaving a mess on the floor of an abandoned factory.
I killed a man today.
I didn't hesitate. I had my gun, locked up in the second drawer of my end table. My wife didn't know about it, of course. She didn't like violence. How ironic that she would die at the hands of one of the most violent people.
I killed a man today.
That day, when I knew he was going to walk out of the courthouse, charges lifted because of lack of evidence, I sat in my living room, drinking half a bottle of whiskey. The rich stream of distilled grain mash was a comfort to my throat and nerves. One after another, I tossed every glass back like a champ. In front of me was that gun that I skillfully hid from my wife. Its silver front sight taunted at me. My hand itched to wrap around the curved grip, and my index finger couldn't wait to pull the trigger. A revolver, it was. Enfield. My pa got it in the 1930s from his pa, and well, then gave it to me. I didn't know how to use it.
I killed a man today.
I trailed the monster from his home to a porn shop until he was done with his yen, whatever, and headed back to the dingy place he called his nest. The Enfield was on my lap the whole time, and it would've just taken a millisecond for me to reach down and aim at the bastard.
I killed a man today.
I knew he was begging to God in his head, but what kind of divine being would forgive him for his sins? My wife was not the last of his victims, and if I just sat back and let him find his next prey, then...fuck I was just as bad as he was.
I killed a man today.
I left his body there, not even caring that someone would find him soon. He deserved to die alone. I can still smell the metallic scent of his blood. I can feel it sink into my skin, staying there, remind me of my deed. Or my sin. Even though I just touched his blood with my hands, I felt it everywhere on my body.Suddenly, I wanted to be sick.
I killed a man today.
I let myself vomit into the toilet when I got home. My hands gripped the bowl, and I kept on heaving and heaving. As if that would help me.
I killed a man today.
I threw the revolver into the trashcan. Tore off my clothes because it only made me think more of him.
I killed a man today.
I glanced at that picture of my wife. My sweetheart. We graduated from the same high school, and we were in love even back then. There I was, dressed in the blue graduation gown for boys. I was standing proudly with my diploma, with my hair as dark as black, and with a smile so wide it could light up a cave. There she was, balancing on her toes, giving me a sweet kiss on the cheeks. She was so lovely and innocent, with the golden curls that framed her petite face. She always looked for the good in people and wouldn't have hurt another human being. She was the gift of ruth to me--that I am sure. So...why? Why was she hurt so badly that she was no longer able to live?
In the back of my mind, I hear the police coming for me.
But all I can think is: What would she do if she knew what I did?
...what I have become?
She's not coming back. Never. So why...?
Is this the end for me?
Oh god...I killed a man today.
Cheers, guys! Until next time :)
