A CHAIN REACTION

It’s always the same, every time you kill.

The pleading, the “There’s always another way, we’ll figure this out, just put the gun down”.

But there is never another way. You see that, don’t you? I had to kill them. It was the only way I could be free. I didn’t enjoy it, don’t get me wrong. But each one of them had to die. 

It started with my lying, cheating husband and his mistress. I mean, I caught them at it – so what was I supposed to do? I shot them.

It would have ended there – but then there was that elderly neighbor in the house opposite, who heard the shots and saw me walk out, my gun still in my hand. So I had to shoot her, too – you see that, don’t you? And what was I to do when her daughter walked in just as I was pulling the trigger? I shot her dead.

It was just bad luck that the security guard heard the shots and came running. I had to shoot him, see? He was armed, he had seen me, it was me or him. And what could I have done about the young girl on her way to school, who turned the corner and saw me just as I was shooting the guard? What of her mother, who had come running after her to give her the packed lunch she had forgotten to take?

“Please, don’t”, she whimpered. I felt a sadness rise in me as I looked at her. “I won’t tell, I swear!” She was begging now – but of course she would tell, wouldn’t she? The minute I walked away, she would be on the phone to the cops. So what could I do? “I’m sorry,” I said. “I have no choice.” And I shot her. Point blank.

 At least she died quick – she didn’t have to live with the pain of having seen her child’s death.

They are dead now, all of them. But I feel no respite. It’s like they are all around me now, as I stand there, the over-heated gun burning the skin of my palm. They are all around me -- the little girl with the trusting blue eyes, the elderly neighbor too scared to even beg for her life, even my dirtbag husband and his slut… They surround me, they hold me rooted…

The siren jerks me out of my reverie. I feel relief. I don’t want to run. I know there is no place I can run, where they won’t be with me, those people I killed. I am tired. So tired.

I walk into the middle of the road, and lay down my gun. It is a relief to put it down. And I wait.

The jail cell is small. Twelve steps lengthwise, eight steps breadthwise. I know – I paced it. Thrice, to be sure. What else is there to do? This cell is my home now, and forever; I am in here, life without parole.

I lie in my bunk, staring at the grimy wall of my cell. And I realize I am finally at peace. My victims can’t bother me now; they can’t get in here. Not into this cell. Not into my head. I am finally free of them forever.

I smile to myself and slip into the dreamless sleep I’ve been craving since I first pulled that cursed trigger. I’ve been caught, I am in jail, and I am finally free.