A man deserves a second chance, but keep an eye on him.
Posted: Wed Jan 16, 2019 9:40 pm
(Hansel Williams, Fluffytown)
Hansel Williams was spread out on the grass, his eyes unfocused, bleary, gazing up at the night sky. Stars, like winking pinpricks, dotted through the cloud cover, making him feel small, insignificant. They were like a thousand judging eyes, staring down at him with condescension, scorn, disgruntlement.
It was telling that he couldn't hold their gaze, his eyes darting from star to star, as quick as his heart.
He had run hard and fast away from the mall, away from the wounded Mallory, away from her friend, away from his growled threats and the sound of a gunshot. In the moment, he had believed the words he had said, backed them up by anger, accusations, the threat of life or death. In the heat of the moment, he had been prepared to act and justify his actions.
But in the coolness of the aftermath, with his chest pumping up and down with the strain of breath and the weight of his actions heavy on his ribs, he was afraid. Afraid of the demons that had taken hold of him ever since he had woken up next to his FAMAS and had haunted him, tugging at him. They had controlled his crosshair as he centered it upon Daniel Whitten's forehead, and they had guided his trigger finger when Mallory swung at his weapon. They had pushed him to demand water from Adonis, to hold up Bianca. And now, at his hands, two people were dead.
What was happening to him?
Lifting his hands in front of his eyes, nothing but dark shapes against that bright, starry sky, he watched them. City life hadn't diminished the hard calluses and easily dried out skin that he had seen as a reminder, a relic, of his old life. Hansel rubbed his thumbs over his padded fingers, reminding himself of the hard work under a beating sun, the sounds and smells of the ranch, the feel of a hammer in his hand as he secured a fence post.
He'd killed two people.
He'd have to kill again.
Letting his hands drop, he imagined them bloody, caked in Daniel's snuffed out life and Mallory's crushed potential. He watched the stars as they swirled around him - judging, whispering, probing.
Finding him wanting.
With that thought. he fell asleep.
(Hansel Williams, Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee)
Hansel Williams was spread out on the grass, his eyes unfocused, bleary, gazing up at the night sky. Stars, like winking pinpricks, dotted through the cloud cover, making him feel small, insignificant. They were like a thousand judging eyes, staring down at him with condescension, scorn, disgruntlement.
It was telling that he couldn't hold their gaze, his eyes darting from star to star, as quick as his heart.
He had run hard and fast away from the mall, away from the wounded Mallory, away from her friend, away from his growled threats and the sound of a gunshot. In the moment, he had believed the words he had said, backed them up by anger, accusations, the threat of life or death. In the heat of the moment, he had been prepared to act and justify his actions.
But in the coolness of the aftermath, with his chest pumping up and down with the strain of breath and the weight of his actions heavy on his ribs, he was afraid. Afraid of the demons that had taken hold of him ever since he had woken up next to his FAMAS and had haunted him, tugging at him. They had controlled his crosshair as he centered it upon Daniel Whitten's forehead, and they had guided his trigger finger when Mallory swung at his weapon. They had pushed him to demand water from Adonis, to hold up Bianca. And now, at his hands, two people were dead.
What was happening to him?
Lifting his hands in front of his eyes, nothing but dark shapes against that bright, starry sky, he watched them. City life hadn't diminished the hard calluses and easily dried out skin that he had seen as a reminder, a relic, of his old life. Hansel rubbed his thumbs over his padded fingers, reminding himself of the hard work under a beating sun, the sounds and smells of the ranch, the feel of a hammer in his hand as he secured a fence post.
He'd killed two people.
He'd have to kill again.
Letting his hands drop, he imagined them bloody, caked in Daniel's snuffed out life and Mallory's crushed potential. He watched the stars as they swirled around him - judging, whispering, probing.
Finding him wanting.
With that thought. he fell asleep.
(Hansel Williams, Bury My Heart At Wounded Knee)