Another visit

Bert realized that the act that he had envisioned in his head was nothing when played out in reality.

He stared at the corpse in broad daylight. He could not see it breathe. Instead of stepping around it, large swatches of green grass at the boy's head and feet, he stepped over the body--lifting his feet high so they did not distrub the tableau.

Now standing in the gutter, he squatted and placed the handgun over his rump. The weapon was a burning hot now, much warmer than the original firing. It pressed harder as he leaned in over the youth's mouth. He held a palm over the young boy's lips, as if saying a healing prayer.

He felt no air.

And Bert knew he should have shuddered. But he felt no cold for his actions. He only felt the warmth of the gun just under his belt.

The chest wound was well placed into the boy's heart. It must have kept working, for he heard the gurgle. In fact, he reasoned, his hearing had increased tenfold. The birds did not herald his moment of conquest. No sirens filled the air.

The thought of the sirens caused him to stand and rest his hand on the gun. North and south no one approached. Bert realized that beyond this moment school was in session and even though the occasion toy housed itself on the sidewalk, not a child in sight.

Only the young man. Bert always wondered how he got away with his annoyances. He skateboarded so frequently, one would begin to hope for rain to make the boy slip and stop his incessant noise. And even though he never smoked in public, many parents in the neighborhood had to explain to their elementary students that the pungent odor was merely dog excrement.

Bert had removed the area nuicince.

And he loooked again to thenorth and south. No applause occured either. He had made this small corner of earth a better place and not one person hooted or hollered.

He squated back down.

The young man was wearing three tshirts, all too small. The knockback and caused them to gather and expose the youth's lower abdomen. The blood had seeped towards the line of his belt and was pooling in the youth's belly button. The small trickle looked as if painted on.

He released the gun. His face had no expression, at least for anyone watching. Inside Bert's head, a group of his own voices were singing his praises. A sorry attempt to validate his behavior that he knew was incorrect, but somehow, necessary. He briefly enjoyed a thought, like someone who cheats on a diet with a small cookie, but caught himself.

He looked to the body again. He looked north and south. And saw not a single person. His house was only a brief trip back around the corner. In it? More guns, more comfort and more purpose.

He walked slowly, just in case someone wanted to question him.