Justice in Pain

He is so sorry. So, so, so very sorry.

But there may be nothing he can do now. The child is laid bare to rest and the father is left alone to grieve. It is his fault and he knows it, but that does not stop the tears.

He gave the molester a pathway, a means to the end of his son and the beginning of their pleasure. If only he could have seen the signs.

The molester is a murderer, a beast of the most devilish sort; he must be eliminated and put away for his crime, the father reasons.

And so he finds him. Binds him. Gags him so that his screams may stay silent. And then he works.

His tools are all there and are happy to assist him. He takes the bolt cutters first. Removing the perp’s sock so that a foot may be exposed, and then he sandwiches a toe in between the blades. A clench, a pop, a muffled scream. The same sequence repeats and repeats and repeats. They will never walk the same again.

Reaching out, a cleaver is taken in his right hand. He grabs the molester’s left. Their head shakes vigorously. His nods confirmingly. A couple teasing, grazing slices on the junction where the forearm and bicep connect. Tendrils of blood. He stares at the cuts in anticipation. The blade is risen, and strikes down, and down again. Blood is further leaking out onto the concrete floor as the blade is shakily risen once more, and falls hard. The severed half of the arm flops onto the ground and twitches violently, before ceasing movement.

10 or so painkillers are taken. The coup de grace awaits.

A boxcutter lies in his right hand. Trying to ease the blade as it’s raised to their throat, it shakes and shakes. He kills the jitters and thinks on his actions for a second. Will this bring him back? Is this right? What about the others?

They stare ahead. He does too. Their eyes do not meet but are fixed on the same thing.

“Let it end, please. This is too much for us to bear.”

He plunges the blade into his throat and doesn't slice, but carves. Deep slicing as the boxcutter is forcefully dragged into and across his throat. He feels his life leave and grow weaker by the second, his skin part and sever and ooze blood from the gaping fatal wound. He can pinpoint the exact moment he slices through his vocal cords.

The deep slit is done and he falls onto the floor dead and happy. Justice for his son has been served.

If only he had killed that side of himself in time. If only.

He is so sorry. So incredibly sorry.