Here is a short story called The Wolfs Head by Ruth Erskine. This writer would like some constructive criticism. Help? _“You can say I’m mad, you can say I’m crazy, but I’m only as bad as the maker who made me.” -Passenger, Wicked Man’s Rest_ Henry was not surprised when the judge ruled the verdict ‘guilty.’ The officers lead him out past the hateful looks of those who had been in attendance. Death was the sentence, and three years later Henry waited for it to be carried out. On his last day a priest came to meet with him. “Is there anything you would like to talk about?” The priest asked. Henry responded, “I guess you expect me to say I’m sorry for what I did and to beg your forgiveness, right?” “Not if you don’t mean it,” the priest said calmly. “Good. Because the truth is, I don’t know how I feel about it. I did what I did, and that’s all.” Henry looked down at his handcuffed hands. “Will you let me pray for you?” the priest requested. “We’ll see,” Henry said. “First I have two stories I want to tell you. I haven’t ever told these to anyone, but I’ve only got what, three hours left to live? So there’s no need keeping any more secrets. That is, if you don’t mind.” The priest gave his consent, so He began. Henry wound through the Paris streets all lit up with Christmas lights and alive with carolers. It was all too bright and happy for the task he had to perform. Fletcher had already been waiting a while when he arrived. A light snow had just begun to fall. “Sorry,” Henry shoved his hands down deep in his pockets, trying to stay warm. “Is it time yet?” Fletcher lit a cigarette, taking his time with the answer. “He’ll go upstairs and tuck in the kid. Then he’ll go back down to the study. That’s when you make your move.” Henry nodded and blamed his shaking on the cold. From the alley where they stood Henry saw the upstairs light go out. “Now?” he asked. Fletcher held up his hand. “Wait.” A few minutes passed before he gave the ‘ok’. Henry pulled out his pistol and screwed the silencer on the end. Hiding it under his coat, he crept up to the house. The first thing Henry saw when he opened the door was the Christmas tree, under which were piled presents. He could see the study down the hall. His target had his back to the door and was poring over stacks of papers. Henry moved closer. One shot to the head was all it took. He didn’t allow himself to hesitate. “Papa?” a voice called behind him. Henry panicked. He turned and shot again, without even thinking. The girl was only two. Her doll slid from her hand. All Henry could do was watch in horror as her lifeless body crumpled to the floor. She never even knew what happened. In shock, Henry scrambled to get out. He kept thinking of all the Christmas presents that would never be opened. The carolers had begun to sing ‘Joy to the World’ when Henry half ran, half fell back to where Fletcher waited. None of them knew of the horrors that had just occurred. “Is it done?” Fletcher asked. “Yes,” Henry managed to get out. “And?” “The kid. I killed the f***ing kid!” Henry punched the brick wall, breaking his hand. He bit down on it to suppress his cry of pain. Fletcher laid a reassuring hand on Henry’s shoulder. “The only thing that matters is that the target’s been eliminated. You’ll get over it soon.” Henry nodded numbly. Down inside he knew he had crossed the line, and there was no coming back. Ayden had been trained well, or so Henry had thought. This was his final test. They hid underneath an old bridge behind the house. “You ready?” Henry asked. The boy seemed nervous, but he nodded. Henry peered out at the house. “Go.” Ayden checked his pistol and went forward. Henry watched as he disappeared into the house. A few minutes later he reemerged and came shakily back to Henry. “Well?” Henry asked. Ayden looked down at the ground. “I-I can’t do it,” he stammered. “I’m sorry.” “That’s fine, I’ll deal with it. You’ll get another chance,” Henry encouraged him. “Go back to the car and wait for me.” Ayden’s face brightened. “Really? Thanks.” Henry watched him go before pulling out his own pistol and going up to the house. Before long he returned. The task was done. Ayden waited for him in the car. “Hey, get out a second. I want to talk to you.” Henry said. Without question, he got out and followed him into an alley. It took Ayden a matter of seconds to realize what Henry was doing. “Wait! I thought you said I’d get a second chance!” The boy panicked. “I lied.” Henry calmly pulled his pistol out and removed the silencer, so it would look like just another mugging. “Please, Henry, don’t do this!” Ayden pleaded. He slowly backed away. “I’m sorry.” The boy turned to run, but Henry was faster. Taking Ayden’s wallet, Henry got back in the car and drove off.” “They didn’t pin those two on me, Father.” Henry said when his stories were over. “They charged me for the other ten but not those. I don’t feel bad about them, and I hate myself for it. You can pray if you want, but it won’t do any good. I’m too far gone.” “No one is too far gone,” the priest objected kindly. “There’s hope for everyone. “Time’s up,” one of the guards interjected. Henry stood. “I’m glad you believe that, Father. Maybe it’ll do you some good in the future. Do one thing for me, will you? Let the mama of that little girl know it was me. Her name’s Flavi Batiste. He was taken out before the priest could respond. Henry wasn’t afraid as they lead him back. His time was over, and he was getting what he deserved. The last thing he saw on this earth was the hatred in the eyes of the loved ones of those he’d killed.
Posted on: Fri, 18 Jul 2014 14:31:30 +0000
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