Why

Why?

Note: Okay, this story randomly popped into my head when reading profiles of America’s most notorious Rapists, serial killers and stalkers. A good read though, I’ts written by a retired FBI agent, if you want the book, email me and I’ll give you the title.

Disclaimers: I don’t own Depth Charge or the implied Rampage.

Nobody ever said death was easy, nor is it hard. It is merely, excruciating.

A solitary death of a stranger or the death of a loved one both can impact you in the same numbing way. To come upon their twisted mangled bodies, which are no longer the person you remember… A mind cannot fathom that kind of shock.

What you’re seeing is simply the remnants of what that person once was. Because, in your memory, their arm didn’t bend that way, and in your memory, there wasn’t that stain on the floor, or that hole in their chest.

Now, if you can even begin to fathom the depth or enormity of the sheer bottomless chasm of despair, hurt and anguish a survivor would feel for one solitary death.

Try on those emotions as you gaze at a quiet city. Those words, quiet city, such an oxymoron, but only if the inhabitants of such a city were indeed asleep.

Oh, how I long to type those words, that yes, they were indeed asleep. But Fate has never been kind to this transformer. And it was proved as I happened upon the first few shells. Their sparks having long since been extinguished.

The next one, or should I say the next two, would cause many to cry or crumble; unable to take the pain. Lifting my foot, I walk carefully over the femme clutching onto her small, dented child.

You, the ones who can sit and say ‘I understand’, here’s what I have to say to that. Bull-slagging-shit you do.

I want justice for what has been done, and for the lack in pre-cautionary steps that could have been taken to avoid his escape. And then, just before that damned spark is sent back to the Pit, I want to ask one thing.

“Why?”

~fin~