A Level Of Justice

He had trapped him in a dark alley. His gun was pointed at the murderer of the knifed and robbed and now dead young woman. The lone bystander, who had ran after them from the park said, “I’ll call the police. Don’t shoot him, you’ll just be descending to his level, and it won’t bring back that innocent young woman.”

He said, “Killing a murderer is not descending; it is rising on the wings of revenge to the level of justice. This animal does not deserve to stay back here with the living. He has earned his own cessation.”

“But shooting him will add to more gun violence.”

“So, you want me to stab him with a knife, like he did to that poor girl, or strangle him with my bare hands? Or should I pour gasoline over him and set him afire? Will that improve your damn statistics?”

Then he squeezed the trigger and shot the evil murderer right between the eyes.

The bystander screamed, “That was plain murder! You didn’t give him a chance to explain himself!”

He pocketed his gun, walked up to the bystander, and with a white-knuckled fist punched him straight in the mouth, knocking out four teeth. Then he dragged the now unconscious body of the bystander and laid it on top of the murderer, arms surrounding it in a fitting embrace. He took the right hand of the murderer and pressed its knuckles into the bystander’s bloody mouth, wiped his unregistered gun and put it into the right hand of the bystander, stood up straight and walked away. At a telephone booth he dialed 911, gave some directions and details, hung up and kept on walking.

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