I'll leave the rest unsaid for you to read this at your leisure. Original idea for this didn't include the reasoning for the person's actions, but when I finally say down to write it that sprang to mind and became the main theme, I suppose. Gotta say, getting myself to write has been a bit tricky lately, but once I'm going it works pretty well. Now just to not do that writing until well-past midnight. Baby-steps, I guess.
Hope you find this piece of writing... interesting and well-written, and have yourself a lovely day! See you Wednesday at eight AM for more. (Note: I wrote a character for this story that has their own ideology that is likely to be deemed as quite horrific; does not represent my views. Really want to make that clear.)
Think of the Children by Mackinley Clevinger, July 11, 2016
He lifted himself slowly, freezing as the roof creaked beneath his hands before quickly swinging a leg beside him to spread his weight around the layered tiles. Arms trembling, he pushed himself onto the roof and rolled away from the edge, quietly sucking in deep breaths as he listened to the midnight world surrounding him.
A truck rolled by, and by the time its rumble had faded into the night the man had rolled onto his chest and clambered along the roof, nothing more than a vague outline against the star-studded sky that watched over a troubled suburbia. He came to a stop near a skylight, its thin light creeping along the roof to brush against the fingertips of his black gloves as he peered through the glass into the house.
Beneath him lay a dimly lit bathroom, casting the dull glow of a night-light out onto the yard beneath him through a fastened window, but pointedly also sending light through the unlocked skylight before him. Shifting his feet and slipping his hands underneath the edge of the skylight, he heaved the long-unused screen open, wincing at the popping sound as it came unstuck and let out a blast of cool air.
Sliding down foot-first, he fell onto the tiled floor without a sound, remaining crouched as he listened to the sounds of the house. An electric hum, the ticking of clocks, a washing machine running… and hinges squeaking off to his right. His senses had always led him to his targets, and they hadn’t failed him yet.
He rose to his full height and passed the mirror to reach the door, catching the sight of a warped, ugly creature out of the corner of his eye. Jerking his head towards the mirror, his eyes focused and revealed him to be alone in the dim bathroom, the mirage nothing more than the low-light. He stood still in front of it, straightening his clothes and lost in thought.
He watched his reflection as he reached behind himself and drew out a lengthy hunting knife, freezing with it half-raised as his eyes danced over the picture he made. He let his arm drop and widened his stance, bringing the knife to bear again and looking over himself for a few moments before nodding and stepping away from the mirror, ignoring the mirage he kept seeing out of the corner of his eye.
With a careful, slow twist, the door was open and bathing him in yellow light from a hallway, the sound of someone moving around still coming from where he’d heard a cabinet creak. With agonizing patience, he silently moved down the hall towards the sound, eyes fixed on a door open just a crack. He’d followed them here in the light of day, when the things that had to be done were shunned, when he couldn’t do what had to be done for the good of all mankind.
He’d seen them out in public, acting like they belonged among his people, the ones he had defended against dozens of others that wanted nothing more than to corrupt and destroy good people. He’d known exactly what to do, and now it had brought him here. It was a shame the other one had left, but it was only a matter of time before they all got what was coming to them. What they deserved.
The thoughts flowed as they always did, setting his blood on fire while each slow step brought him closer and closer to his target. So few saw things the way he did, understood it the way he had realized so long ago. They just saw two people going about their lives, but he looked beneath it and saw what it really was. What it had done to people, making them bend over backwards to receive these lesser beings, making his children think it was okay to…
The urge to let out a cooling sigh came to him, to let the flames die down, but he needed the heat – needed the strength that the rage brought him. That’s how it had been the first time, and in that divine flame he knew that he was righteous, that he was on the side of all that was right with the world so long as he eradicated that which sought to destroy the goodness that was left in humanity.
He’d reached the door, and could see a strip of carpet through the open-crack. A shadow bobbed across it, the outline of a woman cast on the ground as she moved around and made the noise that had guided him to her. He’d seen the two of them while at the mall, first holding hands and later kissing, in full view of not just himself and those who knew better, but in front of his own children.
His knuckles popped, the handle of his knife digging into his fingers as his vision blurred with rage. His own children. That was what he was doing this for, not himself, but for his children, and the children of every other parent that didn’t care enough to see what had to be done for the good of all people. If they wouldn’t leave after everything he’d done, then he’d spare the world from having to suffer their existence.
Extending an arm, he lay a palm flat against the door and gently eased it open, the hinges silent as the bedroom expanded from a small crack to a view that included a woman in her pajamas with her back turned towards him, sifting through laundry. He didn’t have to hide anymore; he was between her and any chance of escape, or calling the ignorant, foolhardy police that had refused to protect their citizens.
It was truly a shame the woman was alone; he didn’t do what he did for pleasure, but he couldn’t deny that watching two women panic in the minutes before he killed them for their crimes against humanity didn’t make something inside him feel… satisfied.
He slipped through the door, knife at the ready, and approached the –
“Drop the knife and get down on the ground!”
His head jerked to the side in time to see a woman in police clothing with her gun drawn before another voice boomed out at him from behind.
“Drop it!”
He lifted his arms, knife still held, and looked between the policeman standing in the hallway to the woman in her pajamas who’d been folding laundry, now watching him.
“She – “
“Drop it!”
He looked at the police officers, the rage pumping through him subsiding slowly.
“You can’t do this! We have to – “
“Drop. The. Knife.”
“Can’t you see what you’re doing? You’re playing right into their little bitch hands!”
“You have until the count of three. One.”
“They’re coming after our children!”
Suddenly, the rushing in his head and the fast beating of his heart came to a stop, the world crystal-clear around him as he knew what he had to do.
“Two. We will – “
“I’m not going to see my daughter become one of them.”
He turned and lunged towards the woman, arm swinging ahead of him as the room erupted in screams and explosions. Bullets struck him in mid-air, blasts of pain taking the life out of him and sending him falling to the ground a foot away from the frantic woman in pajamas. He tried to move, to finish the mission he had set out to complete, but his body wouldn’t move, wouldn’t do what he told it to.
Through a haze of pain, he heard voices; could barely feel someone pat him down and take the knife out of his hand. The end was coming for him, and though he had failed tonight, he found solace in the better world he was leaving for his family; the world he had cleansed for them, had made safer for his daughter to grow up in without fear of being made into one of them.
There were more of them out there, but he knew he hadn’t been alone in his battle, and that he wouldn’t be leaving the world unprotected when God took him in his arms. To many, he would be misunderstood, a murderer instead of a liberator. A criminal and not a champion of the peace. His son already understood, and others would, too.
His death wouldn’t be fair, but that was what his campaign had been about. The world was out of balance, and there was only one way to fix it. A hero like him, killed in cold blood while in the line of duty? It would be a call to action, pushing others to… to… he could feel himself beginning to slip… away… what was… what was that?
“I have a pulse!”
His body jerked, air flooding into his lungs as his eyes flashed open to see the roof of an ambulance and several faces looking at him with reserved expressions. He jerked his arms, but found them restrained against the bed he was lying in. He was still in pain and couldn’t feel all of himself properly, but he was… alive?
“Why did you…?”
Did they understand? Did they need him to go back and finish his mission? The policewoman who’d first stopped him appeared over him, looking into his eyes with hate.
“The families deserve justice, not another body.”