Terror's Agony

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Chapter 2-John Williams

I am John Williams, a normal and painstaking average man, so you can imagine my surprise when I felt his cold stare as I walked down the lonely, abandoned street. I was headed towards my home, my family, the only thing on this blessed world that I truly loved with all my heart. Not even a love this strong could melt the ice in his eyes as he gazed at the back of my head.

I passed him earlier, and he wasn’t someone you would miss. The air around him seemed to crackle and strain with the pure power that he held. His stance was one of a god, he held his head high as a soldier, even though he was tall enough to see over anyone in this dreary city.

I heard his heavy steps before I felt a force that would have had any man on his knees, begging to be killed quick. The pure shock didn’t come from his large rough hands around my neck as he shoved me to the wall, it came from his young hostile eyes.

Eyes are supposed to be windows to the soul, or so I’ve heard. On the outside, at first glance, his held pure hatred, as if I had killed his whole family and he was getting his long awaited revenge. But as I reached further I could see the same eyes that I had held when my father first beat my mother when I was at the measly age of five years old. This young man’s eyes held pure unwavering terror.

I had vowed a long time ago to never be like my father, I wanted to be better, to be stronger than he was. I promised to never allow my troubles to take a hold of me like my father let his, but as I felt myself giving away the life that this young man held in his hands, I felt forgiveness towards him, and an understanding towards my father.

As the film started to cloud over my dull eyes, I saw my family behind my killers frame.
They were beautiful.

I have never been more proud of this world until right now, while this man was choking me to death. I felt the never-ending love that I had towards my wife and child.
This is why so much hate surrounds us everyday, something has to cancel out all the goodness that comes from the sorry suckers like me.

My boy won’t see me again unless my casket is open at my funeral, and I’m not okay with that. I don’t want to accept that, and I won’t until I’ve already taken my last breath.
The air I was struggling to consume seemed lost in my head, no longer a necessity.
Why is he doing this to me?
What have I done to him?

I could waste my last moment trying to ask these questions, but I won’t get answers. I will always have an endless amount of questions that will never be solved, but I guess that’s why life is an unsolved mystery.

The only thing I saw as my eyes forced their way shut, was the look in his deep gaze.
He was sorry.

So was I.

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