The Man Who Chose Justice

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Science Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
Dystopian society, plus a very pissed individual, equals murder in the name of justice.

Because Justice...

...It JUST...IS...

Submitted: May 08, 2011

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Submitted: May 08, 2011

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Crouched on a building he stands, stalking his prey, the vermin of the streets below. He must show them how to be a man, how to be a fighter in this war against the politicians of this time. A man takes a right into the alley. He is clothed in a costly suit, a sly black fedora, and shiny black shoes that glisten amongst the trash in the alley. He carries a briefcase with him. It has a combination lock on it. It is who the hero has been waiting for. He soars down from two stories up and smashes head on into the man walking below. The man’s briefcase flys up in the air. When it hits the ground, the lock breaks and the case is busted open.They tumble and fall, dirt and grime smudging onto the well dressed man’s clothes. His face goes into the pavement and cuts and abrasions scar across his face. Through bloody eyes the man stares up at the person before him, the one holding the knife to the side of his nose. “What…what do you want?” He is choking out every word in fear. “I’ll tell you what I want in due time, but first…tell me your name. I never bothered to figure that out.” The hero’s voice is calm and friendly. “All I know is that you’re one of those idiotic politician scum who need to know how I take their policies.” He spits out this last phrase, every drop of saliva dropping into the eye of the businessman. Every drop causes him to wither because of the pain and revoltingness. This man who could kill him very easily is of disgust to the businessman and he does not want to give him any satisfaction. But his fear already gives the hero satisfaction. “I am…” Momentarily the businessman loses all memory of his name. Wasn’t it Paul or something like that? Paul…Paul Manchester…no it was something else…Pe… “Out with it.” The hero tightens his grip. “I’m trying! I’m trying! Why are you doing this? I’m trying!” he is crying to himself now. He cannot control his feelings. Feelings can only be witheld for so long. “You piece of shit.” The hero tosses the man against the wall and his head cracks out loudly. “You lousy piece of shit!” He storms up to the man again and lifts him up. “Your godamn name is Peter. Peter Goodwin. And you my idiotic politician scumbag are the godamn head justice at the court down the street. You always finish up work at two thirty then clean up your office. You always end up leaving the building at three thirty and taking a nice big relaxing sigh on the courthouse steps You always take a a left and walk down this street with a half-assed smile planted on your face and then you always get to your house, your wife and fuck her till tomorrow when you’ll get up and go back to work. This is your routine all the time Peter. I know your life better than you do apparently.” He shakes he businessman, Peter, back and forth through this whole monolougue and on every “always”, the hero smashes Peter against the wall and makes the break in the back of his head larger and larger. Peter or as he now remembers, “Petey” to friends, is deep in thought amongst the pounding in his head. He is remembering not only his name but his life. He is seeing how many people’s lives he has ruined, millions of them probably ending up like the one before them. Some of them had no chance anyway. He is seeing the thigh of his wife and smelling her sweet perfume, feeling his nose against her hair. This is a pleasure his victims have never had he bets. He is seeing his own face in the mirror staring at his fat body, the look of disgust he shows at his gained pounds, a look of disgust that he realizes has probably shown to millions of other people who never deserved it. Then “Petey” thinks he sees the one solution to this problem. “I can pay you.” The response of the hero is a smack across his face and the gouging of two unclipped fingernails into his eye sockets he screams. His screams are heard but not reckognized by the people of this world. They juast turn and walk quickly away. The hero accepts that that is how man will be if it chooses to be that way. He knees the business man, Peter, in the chin and drops him. Peter is whining and whimpering in pain. The hero crouches down to become eye level with the man. “That is absolutely quite in fact a wrong, the wrong answer and I don’t think you should have said it. Did you realize nothing? No? Well I guess there is no point to continuing this” The knife raises in the air. “Wait!” Peter is trying to buy time. To lengthen his life for even a small second more. He can faintly hear a siren in the distance and believes that maybe that can rescue him. “Don’t you want to…tell me your purpose…?” “My purpose? That’s a good one” He chuckles and starts his knife’s descent. “No! No! What you want! Don’t you want to tell me what you want!?” The hero stops. “Want…? I want…to teach.” “Teach…teach? ...Like history, arithmetic, English, Spanish?” “I wasn’t done. I want to teach…” The word has escaped the hero. It then comes back to him “silence.” The hero drives the blade through the front of Peter’s skull and punctures the brain of this once “great” judge. He then tosses the body under a couple of trash bags and walks towards the darker end of the alleyway. Behind his back he calls out something.


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