About that killing

Saturday, 6 September 2003

Someone broke in the other night. Middle of the night. Mysteriously, I didn’t fumble getting my Hi-Power out of the gunsafe.

The silhouette in the hall advanced on me. I said, “Don’t move,” and aimed. He took a step, still 15 feet away. I fired a shot into the wall to the right of his head. He froze.

I said, “I will kill you.”

He said, “Oh, I believe you,” but he started walking toward me again.

You may feel as cheated as a viewer of the ’85 season of “Dallas” to learn that it was just a dream. It was just a dream.

Even so. I wouldn’t kill him. Strange man in house. Dog gone or gone quiet. Baby sleeping 20 feet away, I hope. Knowing, whether this is a dream or not, you’d better kill this man if you care for your family and your own life.

Couldn’t do it.

Three times had the chance and motivation to kill someone here in Kashia. Twice had the desire.

Couldn’t.

Wouldn’t.

Couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t I like to know which it really has been.

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