Late Night Walk

         “You, sir, are a tool—an instrument of my will, if you will,” I told him calmly.
         It had been a peculiar night. Yes, I had set out at two in the morning, and yes, it was frightfully cold, but so far as I am aware, there is no curfew in this country and no legal obligation to remain indoors when the temperature falls below zero. Should I so desire to take a walk to the park, I should do so, and thus I did. I had found a nice swing there where I could overlook the dam and gaze upon the nothingness of white snow. It was pleasant, to be true.
         If I have my facts straight, there is nothing wrong with admiring a still night from a park bench. I don’t even believe there is a law against making out bits of a conversation from the opposite bank. Apparently, though, I am committing a terrible wrong by walking home. It’s a terrible offense, I’m sure, to any right-minded gentleman. Never mind that my little walk had so far prevented me from committing a real crime, one that had tangible potential to contrast a moral ideal. But crossing the street where there is no intersection? Shame on me.
         He initially stopped me asking if everything was fine, an innocent enough question. “Oh, yes, quite splendidly, indeed. If it’s all the same to you, I am in a bit of a rush to escape the cold,” I told him, perhaps not in those exact words.
         Somehow my complacent wit and cognitive articulation must have caught him by surprise because they triggered in him a desire to accuse me of drunkenness. I saw the same look on him I had seen many times on others. It was a look of general disapproval and presumptuous judgment. It was not a look I received fondly.
         He asked if I would be kind enough to present some form of identification. What an insult. I am fully aware of rights, and I gently reminded him of them. “I’m sorry, but seeing as I’ve committed no offense and seeing that this is not Nazi Germany, I feel inclined to deny your impudent demand,” I replied.
         Excuse me for non-compliance with unwarranted and unconstitutional authority. Forgive me for having inalienable rights. Indeed it must have been my wrongness in staking a claim in freedom that provoked this man into taking special interest in me.
         It was obvious, the pleasure he was experiencing. I was something novel on a dull day. His eyes were growing steadily wider, a clear portrayal of excitement. I could see his hands begin to tremor with pure elation as my annoyance contributed to his joy. It was sickening.
         What a terrible night this was. Each event contributed to the putrid collage representing my life. At first, individual occurrences seemed independently inconvenient, but by the end of the day they had increased in number such that any one solution to any one problem was impeded by some other undesirable circumstance. Calm as is my usual nature, I had dealt with each disappointment with poise and composure. However, the combination was moving me to madness. An angry madness, of course, as the word mad should normally imply. I did know one simple fix for all my problems, yet it seemed like a rather poor solution. True, only one stood between me and resolution, but death seemed fundamentally wrong somehow….
         At least my walk was quite pleasant up until this moment. Sadly that brief episode of pleasantry was over. I was being antagonized. He actually inquired if I might subject myself to a sobriety test. “If you believe me to be drunk, you are largely misled. I will not—at least not in a clear state of mind—become a victim of harassment such as the kind you are attempting.”
It was clear that he had already made up his mind that I was a miscreant. I had already noticed that he was a pompous imbecile. This man to whom I was speaking, this man who believed he was preventing a public disturbance re-ignited my previously cooled anger. He was himself disturbing the public: me. Ask me to walk a line? He had already walked all over the line. Besides, had others been present, they would have seen his own stagger so unbalanced he practically took the scenery over with him.
         Still, he insisted that I should prove my sobriety. “Sir,” I addressed him, “perhaps the reason you are misjudging my state of mind is that yours has been impaired. I mean no disrespect, but perhaps it would not be unfitting to evaluate your own psychological well-being?”
         He responded by changing the subject, a feeble misdirection. He asked me what I was doing out at such an hour if I were not returning from a bar. Of course he would assume I would go to such a pit of vices. Obviously no one would ever enjoy a peaceful moonlight outing.
         He took the coward’s way out of my question, but I was not so weak as to side-step his. “I am out this night because I am deciding whether to kill a man. So far, I have decided against it; however, you seem to be swaying my decision to yet attempt this act, though the roster of involved persons would differ.” Upon hearing this his attitude underwent an abrupt and visible shift. He became much more tense and much less arrogant in his enjoyment of my suffering. Perhaps, thick-headed as he was, he realized that I was soon to enjoy his suffering rather than he mine.
         Whatever the case, he had annoyed me for long enough. Besides, he inspired me and gave me courage I had previously lacked. “Perhaps you can be of assistance to me yet,” I remarked, leading him. “Yes, you could be much help to me, if it’s not too much trouble. It will only require a moment of your time.” I saw his hand reach to unsnap his holster. This was the moment. I knew it.
         “You, sir, are a tool—an instrument of my will, if you will.” Something felt right about taking care of this irritation, finally. “You, sir, are pathetic in this moment.”
         He then requested I not do anything I’d regret. Me regret? He obviously was a fool. So far as I am aware, his readying of his weapon made him an aggressor. If this is the nation I am told it is, I have a right to protect myself. I pulled out my own gun. He drew his on me. Even now I had committed no offense beyond subtly emphasizing his obvious lack of intelligence, something I doubt he fully comprehended.
         “What I set out not to do this night is exactly now what I aim to do, thanks to you. You are about to suffer for your actions tonight. No court could penalize you beyond what you will soon have brought upon yourself. Forever you will know that you committed a wrong, that you bear all the guilt for tonight. This is where we part.” With that farewell I made my final move: I raised my gun to aim at his head.