I could hear Mr. Gavin calling out my name with blunt concern. I had heard he had done something to the poor newspaper boy once and didn’t apologize to his family. He didn’t find it purging enough. He deserves a bout of permanent penalty. A befitting penance.

The same way Margaret with the aide of disloyal and her mistrusted bunch poisoned many including our child through her indecent pharmaceuticals company. I had warned her but she was blinded by slivers of money.    

The same way that pungent father maltreated his daughter.

The same way Mr. Abercrombie had dealings and negotiations for child trafficking and a long tenure of drug abuse.    

I picked up the weapon that glimmered. That beseeched for a strike. That called for a redemption. The blade tasted as a precise urge to kill.

I reached up to Mr. Gavin and saw what Mr. Gavin wouldn’t want to see, what no one else could see; woeful lights, the sun’s complaint, the situation’s reprimand, the agony, the battle within…

I smiled.

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