Familiar Strangers.

Short Story

It was a dark, gloomy night, droplets of the rain poured onto the wooden surface above the worn out building.
Our society changed the laws a couple of years ago. "One may murder legally in your life, but only once." The Government had said.

At first I thought that it was a terrible change, but later realized it was for the better. I turned 18 the week before I stood in that dilapidated building, legally aged to spill the name of the person I wanted so badly to have slaughtered.

There were several stations pressed neatly against each other, workers ready to help whoever was next in that tedious thread of people. An ancient clock was perched on an otherwise empty wall, the slender fingers of it twitched painfully slow. I finally reached the front of the sluggish line.

The woman behind the counter had an expression of disinterest locked onto her dark face. "Your name, as well as the name of the person you want executed?", she asked, her lips forming into a grim line as she waited for me to respond.

"My name is Clara Moore and the person I want dead is Grayson Carter, my long life tormenter and the person who aggressively violated my innocence." I answered the bronze-skinned lady, my oval-shaped eyes darkened at the traumatic memory he had engraved into my mind.

I barely recognised the odd voices at the station next to mine. The wooden divider in between was the only object that isolated me from those familiar strangers.

I peered over the cherry-wood cover that separated me from them. My heart clenched in a way of excruciating pain when I realized the familiar strangers were both my parents and they wanted me to be executed.