Misty Peaks

The city stood tranquil. The air was thick with dense fog, cascading upon the civilians, smelling of the sea. Few dared open their doors to greet this foul-smelling visitor, and so there were none to see a spectacle, one whose implications, ironically, meant so much for every beating heart, every foggy breath in the land.

I stood there, on the dock, the waves lapping against the water-logged wood. White caps momentarily spawned on their misty peaks, before subsiding. I wore a black uniform, a cape draping down my back and shoulders, nearly touching the ground. On either side of me stood my companions; a stocky young man and his adept, lithe female companion. We stood, right arms pointed, pistols raised, at the three foes on the other end.

An enormous, bulbous man had pointed his gun directly at me. I knew it. Pick on the easy target, wasn’t it? His companions were to his sides: at his left was a black-haired man with a pronounced, smug face and wearing a blue outfit, black pantaloons, and polished black derby shoes.It seemed that he was deeply wealthy, based on the gold cane he held with his left hand, its bottom touching the wooden dock. The other man was a gruff, large, gray-haired individual, who appeared capable of snapping his gun into two. He glared menacingly at us, his dingy shirt tattered, his brown pants faded, and he was barefoot.

Standing there, gun raised at the bulbous man’s head, I knew that it would be only a second before the duel began. It was obvious in his smile. I knew that I had a chance, one chance, to lodge a bullet in his brain, and kill the killer. In that moment, a predicament awoke - hesitation. My trigger finger quivered, and my teeth began to chatter. What was I doing? Killing another man? A human being? His gold rings, even in the misty light, seemed to glimmer, blinding my eyes. His smile, one I was withering against, grew larger by the second. He was an intimidating figure, the one who had pulled and yanked me about. He’d attempted to rob me, he bribed the police…he had power, and I had…nothing.

He didn’t give me a chance.

The bullet was released, penetrating my body with ease. It came, as I sickeningly conceived, within inches of my heart. Bullet fire began to explode rapidly all about me, as I fell backwards, onto the hard wooden surface of the dock. Thud! The white shirt underneath my uniform was blossoming in red, as two figures dashed in from behind me. They wore the outfits of me and my companions, and, on their faces lay surprise and dismay. “Ah,” I thought, my consciousness slipping quickly out of control, blurring my vision of them, “These must be the witnesses they were speaking of…”

They lifted up my head. Blood was rushing outwards of the wound, though it had not penetrated the shirt yet. One of them held me in place, while the other procured a towel from his right shirt pocket. He lifted the shirt that I wore, and, at once, began to apply pressure to the wound, attempting to keep it from bleeding excessively. I was curious as to why the bulbous crook wasn’t firing upon them. An answer came within an instant: my companions, so professional were they, that they provided the perfect distraction. They saw my flaws, my hesitation; they knew this man was intimidating, and they knew I, I who had never killed a man before, wouldn’t do it, even though this was for honor. I smiled at this kind gesture they were performing.

One witness was uttering repeated shouts, as though I would hear. I couldn’t; I was too weak.

Too weak.

The thought pulsed angrily in my head, as though on fire, looking for the water to douse it. My heart rate excelled, tripling instantly; black spots danced a tango with red fire, growing ever larger.

I didn’t do it.

Failure seemed to speed the process ever more, and closer and closer to death I neared. The shouts, whispers, gone.

I was within the chambers of my mind, where only my thoughts had meaning, whatever those last thoughts were to be, I noticed. I felt of them. I felt of my companions.They were still fighting this menace, attempting to save my life. How brave they were; how incredible they were!

They have done something for me…and I have pity of myself!

It made me wish to scream, scream with anger, and scream with a voice fading by the second.

I thought of the crook; the robberies, the briberies, suffering. Anger welled up within my soul. FOR THEM! Boomed a voice within my head. FOR THOSE OF THE CITY, THOSE WHO SUFFER UNDER TYRANNY! Justice surprised the duo, and long did they flee, running into the far corners of my mind, to be dealt with later. Urged by a distaste of self-pity, this refusal of failure, what my companions were doing to make sure I did come back, and the anger towards the criminal, I began to rise from the ground. Legs quaked, muscles popped, bones thundered. I moved, rising above the ground, returning to my standing position. Those who had gone out of their way to save me began to lift me upwards, holding onto my unstable frame.

Beyond, bullets and smoke were all I could see. The rich man was sitting on the ground, clutching his right foot, howling despairingly. He had to have been struck by a bullet, I thought. The other man, the gruff one, was lying like I had earlier, sprawled upon the ground. Wooden splinters were strewed about him, leading me to believe he was struck by a blunt object.

The gale blew swift and strong.

The crook was weak and tired.

He fell into the water with a giant splash.

He treaded, yelping for some merciful saviors.

Justice.