SHORT STORIES

Begging for Mercy

The murderer of my family stood before me, eyes toward heaven, bound hands outstretched, palms up, gesturing upward, then down. He prepared to receive his execution.

And I prepared to deliver it.

He was mumbling.

"I must hear," I said. But the crowd, they murmured too loudly, forcing me forward, hoping...

I halted, held my breath, listened, hoped...

He prayed.

My features remained stone, with executioner's eyes for the crowd to behold, but I bit hard on the inside of my cheek. "Recall the Sharia," I spoke to him in my mind. "Recall the code. Mercy!"

He continued praying. I waited.

At first, the onlookers believed I honored his prayer, but they grew quickly impatient, their voices soon rising in pitch.

Still as stone, "Recall the Sharia," I said, only for his ears. In response, he gestured more fervently, admonishing heaven---only heaven.

Forward I dragged the Kalashnikov rifle, grunting, "Recall! Beg my mercy!" He payed no heed.

Mercy! If I could beg for him... But the Sharia spoke. Mercy came only to those who asked. And he refused.

So be it.

I hefted the rifle, sighting his head. "Rage," I spoke, "come," and forced myself to return---my children's blood, my wife's blood, red, staining my rugs. "Rage!" I said, looking again into their faces, "Come!"

It obeyed. My cheeks burned with the vision, and my temples throbbed.

As I squeezed upon the trigger, I opened my eyes and looked into his face. My finger hesitated.

"Rage," I spoke, and again forced myself to return...

Based on a true story.

Behind the Lines
 
(War sounds rage. Bombs exploding. People yelling. Gun fire. One sudden loud gunshot and ricochet.)

Soldier 1: "I've been shot! My god, I'm bleeding. Help me!"

Soldier 2: "Joe! It's okay Joe, I'm here for ya." (Yells.) "Medic!"

Soldier 1: "It hurts."

Soldier 2: "Hang on Joey. Medic's on his way." (Yells again.) "Medic!"

(Sound of Medic running toward two soldiers.)

Medic: "Here I am."

Soldier 1: "Doc! Doc! You haveta help me! I'm bleedin' doc. I'm bleedin'!"

Medic: "Hold on, son. Calm down. It's going to be okay. Now let me take a look."

(Battle sounds intrude as Medic examines wound.)

Soldier 2: (Quiet voice so wounded man doesn't hear.) "How is he, doc."

Medic: (Sighs. Also speaks quietly.) "He's not gonna make it."

Soldier 1: (Calling out.) "Doc! Doc!" (Lowers voice as both men come close.) "You gotta help me."

Soldier 2: "He's done all he can."

Soldier 1: "No! No, that's not..." ( Coughs.) "My wife. My boy. My baby boy. Who's gonna take care of them now?"

Soldier 2: "I... I'm sorry Joey!"

Soldier 1: "Do something for me... Please... Just one thing."

Soldier 2: "Anything."

Soldier 1: "Give my wife this." (Rustling as man grabs pendant from his neck.) "This locket. Give it back to her. And... And..." (Coughs heavily again.)

Soldier 2: "Joey!"

Soldier 1: (Gasping for breath, close to death.) "Tell her... Tell her I love her. I love them both..."

Soldier 2: "I will."

Soldier 1: (Coughs again.) "I... always... loved..." (Fades.)

Soldier 2: "Joey?" (Yells.) "Joey!"

Medic: "He's dead. Let go."

Soldier 2: "Poor Joey."

Medic: "At least he died a hero."

Soldier 2: (Ironic.) "Yeah. That'll comfort his son."

Medic: (Serious, missing irony.) "Yes. The boy can grow up proud knowing he died for the Fatherland. That he died serving his Fuhrer."
NM

 the true measure of a mans wealth is in the things he can afford not to buy