Memories whiz by
Of the life you once shared with your brother.
Good ones, bad ones, you name it
You thought of them.
But the memories stop abruptly
Like a car crash.
They shatter into pieces
At the last memory,
Of that one memory.
A man pulls out a gun,
Points it at your brother
And shoots.
The bullet passes through
Your brother’s skull
And he falls to the ground.
The man showed no mercy, no reason.

Rage bubbles up inside
You at these thoughts.
Clenching your fists,
You pound on the wall, then
Making up your mind as you walk
Out the door.
Pistol in your pocket,
You know what you’re going to do.
Revenge sounds nice.
Pay the man back
For your brother’s death.

You’ve tracked him for days.
Very discreetly
You follow the man
Down the street
And into an ally.
No one’s around.
You grab the man’s shoulders,
Push him to the brick wall,
Pull out the gun,
Put it up to his head.
You wish the man
Never existed.

You stare into the man’s eyes,
See panic starting to surface,
Fear gnawing on his insides.
Shaking and trembling he
Mumbles some words.
“Your brother was good,
And I would take
Back that mistake
If I was given the chance.
I feel as guilty as ever.”

Staring at this scum,
You loosen your grip
On his shoulders,
Take the gun from his head,
Slip it back in your pocket,
And stare silently
For some time
At this lowly creature
Before you.

You could shoot him if
You wanted.
It would be easy.
Aim, put pressure on the
Trigger and BAM,
He’d be dead.
Except you’re not a murderer,
And it would be too quick
Of a relief from the guilty
Consciousness this man lives with
Of killing another
Who was innocent.

Instead you punch him
In the face,
Hard as you can.
The killer falls to the ground
And looks up confused.
Replying to his
Look you say,
“You killed him,
When he was vulnerable,
Like a scared, wimpy, coward
That can’t face his fears.
Now you will live with knowledge
That you killed him
And are putting his friends and family
Into a sadness
You’d never understand.
And it will drive you mad,
The guilt of it.”

Crimson blood dribbling from his lip
And his nose,
The man looks up.
His face contorted in pain,
But not from the punch –
from knowing that he,
Yes he, has to live
With the fact
He killed an innocent man.
A man who shouldn’t’ve died.

A wail escapes the lowly mans mouth,
A pitiful cry can be heard,
As he weeps to himself
About how sorry he is.
The man apologizes to you
To try and make it better.
But you’ve turned your back
And are heading out the alley.
Back to your home,
Back to your life,
Back to everything.

You know of course
That that man,
That man, took a life.
And it will kill him slowly
Just like he deserves.