Thursday, September 13, 2012

Law And Justice

It was bitterly cold on the rooftop, a westward breeze blowing in what would be a first-rate winter storm by sunrise. Calming himself, Dylan resigned himself to the necessary evil of waiting.

What else was he to do but wait? Sit around a house filled with memories of a wife and daughter forever taken from him by the thoughtless actions of a drunken recidivist? No, that he could no longer do. The walls seemed to draw closer in with each passing day and his family cried out from their graves for the justice the courts seemed unwilling to mete out.

That would all be set to rights tonight. Dylan perked up as he heard a vehicle approaching from the south. It was him. Sighting through the scope of his rifle, he waited for his moment.

Watching the man stumble from his truck, the first shot took out his left knee. Jacking in successive rounds, he fired a total of three more times before setting the weapon down and dialing 911. The worthless sot would live, but without the use of all four of his limbs. THAT was justice, Dylan figured.

He ended the call with his name and location and then settled down to wait. What else was he to do but wait? Unlike the piece of human excrement thrashing about in the streets below, Dylan had respect for the rule of law. As long as justice had been served, he had no problem with facing what the law required.

This story was written for the weekly Thursday Threads challenge prompt: What else could he do but wait?

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