Criminal logo

Letters for Myself: Part Three

To the Man I Almost Killed

By Kathryn ParkerPublished 5 years ago 4 min read
Like
Credit: pxhere,com

Warning:

This first one is a bit disturbing, but this is just a dream recited to me by a friend after her work was robbed by a masked gunman.

To The Man I Almost Killed,

I want you to imagine a 19-year-old girl, plain in her features with pale skin and glowing green eyes. Her hair color is hard to determine under the black hat and hair net that are part of her work uniform. She’s thin so it hangs off her and isn’t her most flattering outfit.

She’s focused on her task, putting mushrooms on a mini pizza.

One, two, she counts with her head down.

It’s a mantra for her, something relaxing after a challenging day.

You run back, ready for action.

You take her manager who is pregnant and has the flu and coworker who is rubbing the manager’s back like the mother she is.

You see the manager emptying her guts into the trash and you take advantage of her vulnerability, choosing the sick one first.

The manager doesn’t scream and neither does the coworker. They don’t warn the girl because they’re in shock and disbelief.

You turn to face the plain girl, but she’s already on you.

You grab her, afraid she’ll run given the chance. She pulls her arm back and looks like she’s going to hit you. You remind her of the gun you’re holding and she wisely draws back her arm.

It doesn’t take long for you to rob the place or for you to stay on her mind. It’s about ten minutes.

It ends with you not receiving any money and getting a cash drawer thrown at you by the coworker.

It would be funny if it were not potentially deadly.

The police arrived twenty minutes later as no one was shot (FORESHADOWING). They were about as happy to interview us as we were to see you.

When they left, it was over. We were told to go home and get some rest.

I told myself it was over and that it would be okay. I’d find another job and just concentrate on college.

It wasn’t over, though, not for me.

Now picture a man, black and in his late 30- early 40s. He’s walking across a deserted parking lot late at night, lit only by a streetlight. He’s stressed, you can tell even in the dark.

I look at his back, unable to believe that it might be you.

This is a mixed neighborhood, I reminded myself. Not like the one I was raised in where a black man walking down the street could find himself in some hot water.

No, this was one of the things I actually liked about the neighborhood. Different people.

Good, bad, and everything in between was how I would describe my customers.

I reasoned with myself for what seemed like forever although in reality, it was like the robbery. Over as soon as it started.

I watched you like a lioness watches her prey. She studies every movement and weighs her options.

She plots her next move with precision and focus. It’s almost relaxing and her body calms.

I’m calm, eerily calm at that moment, ready to strike. Ready to exact revenge for breaking my feeling of safety. Ready to pin you down and show you the lioness buried inside.

She thinks nothing of ending a life. It’s merely a necessity for her. It’s not life of her own kind anyway.

That’s how I view you in that moment, not my kind. A criminal, devoid of any real value in my eyes. A lowly parasite sucking off the flesh of the innocent. Ruining lives just so you can live yours.

I view you as nothing but an inconvenient smudge on society. One that could easily be erased with the mere act of driving forward. Fast and without stopping.

He might not be the guy, he might be innocent. You might hurt an innocent person.

That’s the phrase that saved you, the thought of hurting someone who had never wronged me. The thought of taking someone away from his family that didn’t truly deserve it.

I drove by you and you finally turned your head. You said nothing, just gave me a strung out look.

Maybe it wasn’t or maybe it was. I’ll never know.

I may never know your identity or get any justice for the crime you committed against me.

The gun pointed at us. Even without ill intent, even if you just wanted to get money quick.

What you did used to be punishable by hanging. Maybe it should be still.

All I really know of this is I was very close to making my own justice.

Very close to stooping to your level.

I arrived home shortly after that to my now ex-boyfriend. He was waiting for me with Munchos and Code Red (my favorite at the time).

I slowly ingested them, thinking of the night’s events. Especially the feeling of totally relaxation.

I never truly understood until then what could drive a person to murder.

But in that moment, munching on my chips slowly, I knew I had been driven.

And there was every possibility I could be driven again.

Sincerely,

Your Would-Have-Been Killer

guilty
Like

About the Creator

Kathryn Parker

Life is amazing. Life is horrible. It just depends on your day and attitude.

Reader insights

Be the first to share your insights about this piece.

How does it work?

Add your insights

Comments

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.

Sign in to comment

    Find us on social media

    Miscellaneous links

    • Explore
    • Contact
    • Privacy Policy
    • Terms of Use
    • Support

    © 2024 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.