One Word

      Casting its shadow upon the lonely alley walls, the moon was like a king perched atop his magnificent throne. It sat alone amongst the stars waiting for the world to show some mercy to the greatest star of them all and allow this great rock some rest. As I sat gazing at this glorious beauty, my heart pounded as I thought of what events lie ahead, what lengths I had reached to achieve such status. Briefcase in hand, I approached the awaiting taxi while paying my respects to the majesty of the skies. Gazing out onto the passing buildings and street lamps I began to realize at what debts my actions placed me. How horrible it must be to claim such an occupation. It does indeed allow me a hearty allowance, enough to be a very sought after bachelor. The price however was a steep price indeed for such glories.
      Arriving at my destination, I paid the thankful driver and stepped out onto the dilapidated cobblestone steps. Clutching my briefcase tightly, I ascended the grand steps of the neglected and aged mansion while allowing myself the silence required. Approaching the door, I stopped. My hand slowly falls away from the doorknob and I let out a long and exasperating sigh, was I about to make the wrong decision? Every night I see this door, its peeling paint and splintered woodwork, why now must I question its meaning? I run these memories through my mind, while listening to one part of me beg the remaining to let go of the door and avert my feelings, but then I remind myself of what status I would lose in the process.
      Regaining my thoughts, my palm falls softly on the doorknob and I turn the rusty excuse of a handle. While standing in the darkness I could hear the soft whimpers of a grown man, a grown man wallowing in his own self-pity and worthlessness. I approached the man while watching the sweat glisten down his already sweaty forehead.  I carried a flickering candle towards his frightened pupils and watched as the blood dripped from his bruised and swollen lip to the cold hard floor beneath his feet. Hunched over his knees the man begged for his release and offered all he could for his pardon. I simply sighed to myself while setting down my briefcase I had grasped so tightly for the last hour. I did not know this man, nor did he know my own identity, for the light was not sufficient enough for any type of identification. Pulling out my 45 slowly from its home among the pens and pencils of my "other" job, I placed the muzzle firmly to his throbbing temple. The man then let out a quiet cry while squirming in his chair, the ropes binding his hands dug even deeper into his sore and aching flesh. Begging for his mercy only seemed to fuel my stamina against this poor man, and I pressed the gun even harder to his trembling body. The more I thought about walking away, the more I decided for the action, running a picture through my mind of myself in the chair instead of this man. Just as I began to press the trigger he noticed an insignia tattooed on my hand and peered into my dark and shadowed face. Not paying any attention, he only uttered one word before I left him as a large heap hovered over his rusty chair. I didn't understand the word until the lights fell upon this helpless man. He said, "Son."