Wednesday, September 1, 2010
Enjoy! I hope people have skimmed through chapters 1-6 to get a better context. I hope my imagery is stronger than I criticize myself for, either way, voila.
Alexis’ consistent nagging eventually eroded my will to keep my missions precise, simple and clean. She had wanted me to bring her along for some time, and I couldn’t deny her despite her shortcomings. She would leave hairs behind, maybe bite her fingernails, and in short, do something to fuck up. She said the fire would burn it all, and unless she lost a gold tooth I had nothing to worry about. What are you going to do tonight? I knew there were two pedophiles living in a halfway house a few miles from me because of the public notifications I read on the fences I pass warning the decent members of society of such threats. I let her know they wouldn’t be plaguing the more moral members for much longer. What if they’re armed? They are released felons. I let her know that was ridiculous because they were on parole and finding a weapon would be too difficult. Nearly fish in a barrel, except these fish touched young children.
Alexis kept pace, her red hair an oasis in the colorless sky. I can recall her quietly panting, doing her best to be professional and giving me a brief grin as we skimmed into the projects, the type of smile from an enthusiastic and proud child. Scaffolding from nearby buildings that always seemed to be under construction scattered the moonlight giving us a subtle guide in the otherwise darkened hellhole. The well deserving soon to be victims were asleep, since their parole dictated an eleven’ o’clock lights out. A thin balsawood sheet acted as a door, and I easily pierced it with the utility knife I had, and we slinked into the abyss. I grabbed my lighter and watched the flames for a few moments before preparing the ignition materials, enjoying the dancing embers. I prepared to lay down my ordinance and expected to see Alexis smiling at the doorway. I heard a shot.
Eyes usually droop comfortably, but Alexis’ dropped like an elevator whose pulley cords had been cut. I dragged Alexis through the makeshift balsawood door until she was on the relative safety of the crab grass and tossed a lighter into the home, hoping it would ignite something flammable, preferably the homeowner. It was immediately apparent where she had been hit, us both hoping it wasn’t something vital. I picked her up and the vivacity returned like an old car being pumped with gasoline, and she screamed at me, at the pedophile homeowners, at life in general. I was burning every muscle, fiber and calorie to move us from where we were to somewhere we weren’t, and I am so thankful she had been hit in the flesh near her right shin. She wouldn’t be walking for a few weeks, but I wouldn’t be burying her either. The two miles from the target to home were a marathon, the stars cheering on my progress, the moon encouraging us, the adrenaline keeping me awake and Alexis from subcoming from shock. I had to blare music to drown out her agony, because lazy neighbors will generally call the police for hearing screams, rather than not calling from annoying music. I took off the black camouflage pants Alexis was wearing, laid her on her back and despite her begging, propped her leg atop a pillow. I had no idea what I was doing, so I sprayed a bottle of Neosporin onto the wound. The bullet missed the bone and went through, removing a cylindrical inch of skin. I grabbed the largest towels I could find to stop the hemorrhaging, the hemoglobin dripping into sticky, viscous milk on the kitchen tile floor. The screaming had stopped, and now I was struggling to keep Alexis awake. I put sugar into tap water and forced her to drink a liter before letting her pass out. Was it worth it she said. I lied to her and told her she was; sacrifices need to be made to ensure people get what they deserve. I made a mental note to ensure that only myself would make those sacrifices alone in the future.