Enraged

Enraged. That is how to explain my demise. I wanted nothing more than to kill him. My bear hands could get the job done. It would be so easy to do it anyways. Just wait and he’ll come. That is when I would strike. Just nail him in the head and leave him lying there dying with his arms covering his oozing head. It would be a quick strike, no waiting for thinking beforehand. I knew what I wanted to do and nothing, I mean nothing, was going to stop me. I didn’t want him to live. He killed the only thing that I had loved. The only person that I cared for in life. Now that that person was dead, my life was essentially over and with it, my conscience and the ability to think clearly went away too.

I was insane. No one was going to mess with me and if they did, they would find themselves dead in a matter of seconds. I cared for nothing, not life, not love, not anything. There would be no mercy from me, or from my handgun that I carried in the inside of my raincoat. I hid it in there because it was the smart thing to do. I wasn’t that insane, not that crazy to go into the countryside with a gun in my hand. Although the chances of being detected were slim, I didn’t want to take the chance. So the gun stayed in the raincoat.

I approached the house with a mission. It was a simple one to complete and the best thing about it was that it wouldn’t take long. I would just ring the doorbell and fire a few shots and that was it. My revenge would be over. My mission would be complete. The suffering and pain would slowly go away and I would be able to move on with my life, never wanting to look back. That was the plan and I was sticking to it.

The cute little black gate that he had in front of his house was locked. It went well with the big Victorian house that he owned with ivy running down the side of the house. Unfortunately, the gate got in my way, which if it had a brain, would moved out of the way on its own but instead, I kicked it open and proceeded in for the kill.

I went up the light blue steps to his porch where a swinging chair stood in front of some nice windows. The curtains had been pulled to the middle of the windows, so I couldn’t see in the house. It wouldn’t matter anyways though, he wouldn’t remember me if he bet his life on it, which was good because if he survived this attack, he wouldn’t be able to identify me. Plus, I popped the collar on my raincoat to protect a portion of my face, so it would be a slim chance to catch a real good look at me.

I took a deep breath as I stood motionless on the wooden light blue porch that he had. I looked around the countryside, it was beautiful. The trees were fully filled with green leaves and the flowers had bloomed all over his flowerbed. The grass was green, the color you would only find on a baseball field, a true baseball field. I looked around some more and noticed green truck parked in front of a garage that was next to the house. It was an old beat up pickup truck from the 1940’s. It seemed as though he had taste. Too bad he would lose it in a few minutes.

One last glimpse of the scenery before I turned my attention to the screen door that was in front of a newly painted white door that he must have painted only a few hours ago. It was a nice color that blended well with the rest of the porch. If I was a friend I would have complimented him on it but I wasn’t and in fact, those words would never come out of my mouth. Not now, not ever.

I opened the screen door slowly, and I’ll admit, nervously. However, I remembered what he did to me. The pain and suffering that he caused me. The death of a friend. The death of the only person that I cared about. The only person that I could trust was killed by the man who lived in the house that I was staring at. The nervousness left and instead a giant rage came in me like a volcano ready to blow. My adrenaline started pumping very rapidly. Anger formed all over my body and with a scrunched up face, I knocked on the door loudly.

I waited and looked through the tiny window on top of the wooden white door. There was a figure moving towards the door. I put my hand in my raincoat slowly and felt the gun in my pocket. This was it, my revenge had arrived. The figure stopped abruptly and turned around. I wondered what it was doing. It shouted something in a muffled voice but I didn’t hear what it said. It was definitely a man’s voice, his voice exactly. This was good. Real good. There was no longer any speculation of someone else opening the door. It was him that was coming nearer and nearer towards the door.

Finally, the door opened and there appeared the man who killed Johnny. He was tall and well-built but in his late fifties. He had a grayish goatee and very large eyes. They widened as they saw me but it did not throw me off guard. In fact, I went a little too fast as I grabbed the handle of the gun and pulled it out. It went straight into his chubby stomach.

“Get back,” I commanded in a very low voice. He didn’t look down but winced as I stuck the gun further into his stomach. He knew what it was that made contact with his belly and he moved slowly into the narrow hallway of his house. He kept moving and I kept pushing until he made his way into the kitchen. I stopped at the entrance.

“This is what you get for killing Johnny!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, so hard that it ached. I fired my gun into his stomach and then into his chest. I fired, and fired, and fired until I was out of ammunition. The clip released from the gun and hit the title floor with a sound as though a pin hit the floor, only really loud.
The man groaned only once but then remained silent. He had his back on the floor and his face was staring up at the ceiling as blood soaked his white dress shirt. He slowly lifted his head, which was a shade of dark red, and stared at me for a second before putting his head down again. I watched him for another second before turning around when something caught my eye.

The eyes’ of a young girl stared at me blankly as though she was a doll. She had brown hair in braids and wore dress that was dirty, she must have been outside. Her mouth was closed as she sat on the stairs with her elbows lying in her lap. She continued to look at me but I didn’t move. I felt guilty, even a little sad for the girl. She had just seen this man die, apparently someone she lived with or at least knew, right in front of her. A single tear streamed down from her eyes to her chin in less than a second. I was unfazed by this girl who said nothing still.

Finally, I cleared my throat and spoke. “It hurts when someone you love dies, doesn’t it?” I asked her in a low, almost kind voice. She continued to look at me as though she was studying me, or as though she was sketching me in her mind. This was not good. It was time to leave. So I took one last look at the girl and moved on into the narrow hallway, thinking about what I had just done.

I opened the screen door once more and went down the steps of the Victorian house of the murderer that killed Johnny. Justice was served, my way, which felt good. He deserved every single bullet that was inside of him and I almost prayed that he choked on the blood that probably went up through his lungs. He was probably dead now. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be alive for much longer. By the time an ambulance arrived, if one arrived, he would be dead. Just the way I wanted him to be.

As I made my way to the black gate that I had kicked opened, I turned around to see the young girl running down the stairs of her porch. I waved my gun at her and she stopped suddenly, only a few feet away from me. I didn’t know what she was doing, but she sure was stupid. I never saw a little girl run towards a person with a gun in his hand before. Yet, I had just killed someone that she knew, probably cared about.

“Stay where you are,” I commanded but she said nothing. “Just stay there and you won’t get hurt.” I added as I moved slowly backwards, aiming my unloaded gun at her. It was stupid though, if she came at me I would have been screwed. I wasn’t going to hurt an innocent girl. Thankfully, she stood still and just continued to look at me.

“Good, very good!” I exclaimed as I felt around the car door for the handle to open the door. I finally got it and clicked it open. I slowly got into my vehicle without turning around or letting the girl get out of my sight. I then put the gun in my raincoat and started up the engine to my old sedan. The job was done and I could go home knowing that revenge was completed. The man who killed Johnny was dead, or almost dead. It was close enough. He would never cause anyone harm again, which was my intention.

It was a good feeling driving away from the house on the dirt road. I had done my duty. I did the job that I wanted to do and as cleanly as possible. The police wouldn’t have any evidence on the scene except my clip and the bullets themselves but that didn’t matter. My gun was used by almost everyone. So it would be hard for them to track down me from my gun. The only evidence they had was the girl but I was pretty sure she wouldn’t be able to give them any hard identification on me. Besides, I would be long gone from the house by the time they started looking for me, long gone.