by J.H. Batson
There was nowhere for the man to run, and yet he ran with all his heart, seeking shelter from the sights of my gun. Wounded though he was, there was an admirable quickness to his step, as if he were running in fear from death itself. Maybe I am death, sent here from the heavens to shatter the consciousness of this young man. I wish I knew the thoughts that ran through his mind in his last moments. To be certain of your death – to know that all the pain and suffering of life is coming to an end – I can't imagine the comfort that he received. And I can only hope that he is grateful for the gift of death that I have given him.
J.H. Batson, author of Oversteer, is not a murderer. He is, however, looking forward to his high school graduation.