The gun was heavy in his hand. Metal and steel. Blood and death. He had always believed that one should not play god, that justice should be left to the courts. No one had a right to decide who would die or who would pay. He had been foolish and full of ignorance back then. He should have known nothing was infallible especially a system that was created and ruled by humans. Humans, after all are weak and fickle creatures bound to fail at every step. He knew better know. He had learned his lesson. In this world there was no justice only power and those who held it.
The ruling had been a shock to him. It had ignited a deep fury in the hollow of a shell he had become. Fury that burned him from the inside out. There had been disbelief and denial. There must have been a mistake. How could such a ruling come to pass? Did they not see the evidence? How could they ignore everything? He remembered rushing towards the bastard intent on beating the life out of him. The cold hands that detained him and the maniac shouting that had filled the courtroom. His mother had gathered him in her arms her tear-strained eyes had looked at him. Those beautiful broken eyes had stared him down.
"Not you. Not you too." she had whispered her plea into his ear. He had taken in the defeated slump of her shoulders, the dark around her eyes the, fear in her hands and slumped into her like a puppet without a master, useless and helpless.
"Brother! Brother!" her voice carried a mocking affectionate tone serving to distract him from his work. A twitch began to form in his eyebrow before he finally caved in and turned to look at his midget of a sister.
"What!" at his annoyed response she smiled satisfied. His sister was fire, wild and untamed, moving to her own rhythm. She was strong, stronger than him and brave, already planning on enlisting in the marines.
She smacked her hand against his face, filling it with slimy mud and run away laughter following after her. A child. His sister was nothing but a misbehaved child. With a roar he launched himself from his chair in hopes of getting his revenge on her.
He was waiting. The gun a reminder of his choice.
" I do not fucking understand!" he bellowed.
"The system is not always fair. This is not the first time such an outcome has occurred. If you can not see the injustice that taints this land then you have been blind. But that is the problem is it not? We only see what we want to see, we only believe what will benefit us and give us comfort. Anything else is deemed unimportant until we ourselves become the victim but by then it is too late to do anything." Having shared his words of wisdom full to the brim with frustration the lawyer pressed a wary hand against his temple and looked up at him with tired eyes.
"We will make an appeal." His voice was sure and strong undeterred by the intensity of the young man before him.
"How long will that take?" There had been only silence as his answer. It was enough. It would take too long and while they run around making the appeal HE would be free. HE would be enjoying life.
Two wrongs do not make a right. Vengeance only serves to poison the heart. Those were the words that his mother has always repeated into his ear. The wisdom that he had proudly carried in his heart. Revenge leaves you empty and hollow but he was already empty and hollow. His limbs felt like lead had seeped into his bones and merged with his muscles. He was tired and the only thought that drove him forward was the thought of sweet retribution.
He had been waiting across the street. They had agreed to meet at the library so that he could help her with her research paper. She would always wait until the last possible moment to start an assignment. He had been smiling and mocking the fact that he had arrived before her even though her school was closer than his work. His sweat had made his shirt stick to him making him feel like something was suffocating him. He hated the heat but the smile his sister had thrown him was worth the walk. It had happened so fast. One minute she was flicking him off making her way down the street the next she was lying unmoving in a pool of her own blood. It was a car. It was a car that had turned the corner at full speed completely ignoring the stop sign.
He had once watched a documentary on guns and the violence associated with them. A psychologist had come up and had spoken about the favoritism murderers were showing guns.
He had been in a black tidy suit and his voice had been calm as he spoke, "Guns give the killer an impersonal feeling. It disconnects them from the victim. It is the complete opposite of sinking a knife into the flesh of your victim. There is literally no blood in your hands. That is why gangs often have initiations that involve guns, even more once the first kill is committed. The first kill is, after all, always the hardest."
He remembered how he had felt sick to his stomach at the thought of taking a life away. No matter what wasn't the person you killed a father, a brother, a son, an uncle, a nephew? Did that person not have blood in his veins? Did his heart not beat like yours? Did he not laugh and breathe like you? But he was no saint and life worked in funny ways. Now he could only think about killing and the gun was going to be his weapon. He was going to stare HIM in the eye and watch as he withered trying to stop the inevitable.
There was so much blood and he was afraid of touching her ,of breaking her. He felt like the weight of the world was crashing into his chest. Panic was clawing at his throat demanding to be let free. He wanted to say so many things. How everything would be fine. How pretty she looked even when she had hot wing sauce smeared across her face.. How strong she was. How much he loved her. How he was proud of her. But the words were stuck at his throat and he could only encircle her smaller hand in his. She had looked at him, terror in her eyes.
Her body was vibrating with pain as she whispered through her blood-stained lips "I'm scared".
And how he wished that he could offer her the world. That he could gather the universe in his arms and give it to her. And the stars she would were like a dress because she deserved nothing less. His sister who was fire and ice. He wished he had told her this but he had said nothing. He had said nothing. He had said nothing. He had said nothing. He had said nothing. He had said nothing.
He stood in front of him. The bastard had his lips twisted in a cocky smirk. Gin tainted his breath as he leaned across the entrance and slurred " You are that chick's brother." and wasn't that just fucking nice. This bastard had murdered his sister, her blood was on his hands and he had not even fucking bothered to say her name.This idiot who had received nothing but a slap to his wrist. 'Affluenza' they had called it. It was not his fault that he was rich and therefore never knew responsibility. Never knew that his behavior could have consequences. They had let him go, the death of his sister unimportant compared to the money his family flaunted. It was bullshit and all degrees of fucked up when the name of a family held more worth than the life of a child.
He had gone to one of his friends with the request for a gun. His friend had narrowed his eyes and stepped on the cigarette he had been smoking.
"What are you planning on doing?" It was a rhetorical question they both knew what he would do with the gun. He had remained silent his gaze unwavering. His friend had smacked his lips and a bloodthirsty grin had formed at the edge of his lips.
"We are all nothing but animals. Savage and full of hypocrisy. You go and do what you have to. Your gun will be ready by tomorrow." He had nodded and left. It was the hatred that consumed him. It was an eye for an eye. A life for a life. An endless cycle of hatred and vengeance.
'Affluenza' they had declared. Bullshit. It did not matter when a child from the streets came up to court, his soul bent and broken because he had never known another way other that the streets. It had not mattered that every step the child took was already condemned to failure because that was what everybody expected from him. It had not mattered to them. Why should the fact that a rich kid that never knew a life of responsibility matter to them?
There was a note that he had left in the dinning room table. It read 'I'm Sorry'. It would never be enough but it was all he had.
HE had gone silent, red-rimmed eyes staring at him in contempt. It was a cold night but he only felt warm. An inferno was burning inside of him and only one thing would set him free. He pulled the gun out of his pocket and pointed it at the head. The response was immediate. The arrogant tilt of the lips disappearing. The face white and shaken. Red wide eyes were staring at him as pleas started falling from trembling lips. Begs filled the night but he had begged too for his sister's life, so he smiled and pulled the trigger.
