This is the first draft of a short story I'm working on.

Hello you. I wanted to post up this first draft so my fellow writers could get an idea of my process and compare it to their own, and to give everyone else something to read.

WARNING: This short story draft may be disturbing because it deals with murder. Not suitable for young readers.

NOTE: This story is not set in a specific place and time, it is just one man’s experience through a terrible act.

“God,” I cradled my head. “Oh God!”  I said to the ground, and squeezed at the air. “What am I supposed to do it, how am I supposed to do it?

These are women and children. They are women, and children. This is my mother. This is my Mother God rest her soul.

My God! I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.”

I wrenched my upper body around and begged the air. “You can’t kill somebody.” I paced, with the balls of my feet clenched and raised.

“I’ve seen it, I’ve imagined the warm blood dripping down my arms. I see them, in my head. God.”

I paced quicker and chopped at the air.

“Because it can never be done quick. It’s never quick! No matter what they say, no matter what they’ve tried to say, it’s never right, it’s never, good enough. It’s not good enough for me! It’s not, fast enough for me!”

I swayed in sorrow as I talked, bouncing off my hips. “Oh God. What are you talking about, what are you, talking about? You can’t, kill a person. You can’t kill, this human.”

I paced quicker. “My family, God. My family and John and Mike and tommy and all of them! How can they want me to do this? How can this be something they expect me to do?

Oh God. It’s this place. It’s everything. It’s getting too small, it’s getting insane. Oh my God what time is it? 11:50? 11:50? 11:50?

God I’ve never killed a chicken. I’ve never … I’ve never even cooked a chicken.”

My breaths became trembles and I absorbed the chill. “I’ve never hurt anything. I love things, I love everything.”

I chopped at the air again, “this can’t, be right. This can’t be something I have to do.” I thought I would have figured something out by then.

“God. I’ll tell them. That’s it. Get someone else. John’s done it s-fifty times. John can do it. John can do it. John can do it. I don’t think I’ve ever seen john not do it. But that’s wrong, it’s not his place, it’s not his right, it’s not his family.”

I realized I was angry. “I didn’t say it. I didn’t say the vows. I didn’t hope for bad things. Jesus. I did’t make it. I didn’t say it. I didn’t make the promises. I didn’t take the vows. I wasn’t hoping for bad things. God. Can’t. Want. This. And I love god. I love God. But he can’t want this. He wouldn’t be God if he wanted this. 11:54? Oh God!”

I pulled at my beard and it was wet with my tears. “I can’t, I have to do it. You have to kill him. They don’t think you’ll do it so simply don’t do it. That’s it. They can’t tell me I have to do it, but I have to. If they don’t think you’ll do it they’d just … What would they do?” They would kill him. “I’ll just refuse to do it and they’ll kill him. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

I lurched forward suddenly like I would be sick and I ripped at my knees. “I can go. I can go, I can go, right now. I can leave, I can steel a horse. If I go I can make it.”

I looked at the door, I knew what was on the other side. I looked around the small cement room, but there were no windows. “But I’d be leaving Joshua and I’d be leaving Alex and I’d be leaving everything, and damn it all. 11:56, come on! God, God, God.”

I choked when I breathed because of the tears and I held my face. I could see my father come through the door. He would look at me, and he would know. He will know that I’m going to do it. He already knew. I was going to look at him and he would see it. and he’s going to know … What is he going to know?

I held out the knife in my right hand and regarded it with my left. “This. And this thing. Oh God, it’s a heavy blade. And sharp?”

I ran my thumb along the blade, sipping in air, expecting it to be sharp, but the blade was only mostly sharp, and it didn’t break the skin. It wasn’t sharp enough. It wasn’t going to cut. But it did have a good point. “What am I thinking about?”

I started pacing again, faster, again. “He’s an American, I don’t know him, he’s not family, I haven’t seen his face. Pretend, just pretend. Just play like it’s real. Do it like you were shown, do it hard, and do it right, and get it done. 11:59, Oh lord. Oh God.”

I gripped my forehead and reapeated to myself, “Alright, alright, alright.”

“your mother your wife your baby girl, over and over. They, expect you to do it, they want you to do it they, want you, to do it. Everyone wants you to do it. Everyone is ok with this. How is everyone-”

Then I heard my father’s footsteps and I knew them.

“Joeseph.” My father was dark, fierce, noble.


“Are you ready my son?”

“Yes father, I am ready.”

My knees felt numb like they were asleep. I held out the knife. “I’ve said the prayers, father. They are true and I believe them and I…”

“And you what?” He voice wavered.

“And I am happy to do God’s will.”

The room felt warmer. “Then you are a man, you are a citizen, you are, my son. You have compassion for your family. You’re a man.”

“Yes father,” I said, Standing straight, not looking at his face.

“Come by me here, quick,” my father said. “You go in,” he stabbed at the air with an invisible knife, “you go in straight and you push down, down, to the floor. Hold the blade like this, to the side. Not forward! In, and down.”

He squeezed my shoulder and I thought he wanted to smile, but he didn’t, because my father has honor.

“In, and down,” I said. I said it over and over again as I came out, to meet the people, and to give them justice.

The applause was overwhelming. everyone was smiling, and cheering. I saw my wife, and my little girl. She was clapping. My little girl learned to clap, she could clap then.

“This man’s a criminal,” I thought. “And this man killed my mother. Oh God, oh God. Mom! Mother.”

The American Soldier was in front of me, both of us displayed in the dirt semi circle outside of the small bunker. “Why isn’t he screaming?” I thought.

The murderer was there, on his knees, his hands bound behind him and a heavy black sack over his head. He didn’t move. He remained with his back straight and his head down. He was still.

“What does he think is going to happen to him?” I thought. “Oh, what does he think? He doesn’t understand, he doesn’t even know. God.” I almost lost it then. I almost broke.

“Yes,” I said. I had to say it. “God in your name blessed are you, for whom I do revenge, this sin of blood, that has torn my family, my heart, and my life away from me. Oh god, help me revenge my mother’s death and do your will. And, let this act, deter any sinner, that will come after, that out people will not be murdered, and raped.”

I chocked back a sob. My little girl. She’s clapping. She’s clapping.

“Oh God. In your name, in your glory, by your power. I revenge blood, for blood.”

I turned my head away from the roar of the crowd’s approval at the raising up of the knife that would soon part the American from his body.

“I’m going to do it,” I said. “I’m doing it, I’m going to do it!”

I stabbed the man in the neck again, and again. “You sad, sad man. You sad, sad-” I stabbed in the neck, in and down.

“John!” I called out. “John! Its hard I can’t get it John, John. Oh!” I was pushed aside and I collapsed on myself, dripping with sorrow.

“Get up!” John said. “Hey get up, you did it, it’s done. Get up. Get up, stop crying.”

“Kill me,” I wept. “Kill me, kill me, kill me.”

“Get up what are you talking about? Joseph, get up!”

“Hurray!” The crowd said. “Justice is done!”






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