I watched the second hand of the watch tick idly by, as my obsession grew stronger.
It was 10:27 p.m. New York local time, in the 20th year of the 21st century on the 203rd rotation of the Earth around the sun.
I was walking home from work when a sudden thought began to consume my soul. A burning need for vengeance, an urge to do something thinkable that would not go away.
At 10:29 p.m. I deviated from my usual course and began to walk towards the place that I knew that Harry would pass by. Weeks earlier, I had begun following the bastard home from work and had not only made careful note of his place of residence but also kept track within a margin of error of five minutes and 27 seconds his exact whereabouts at any given time. In fact, I already knew that between the times of 10:29 p.m. and 11:37 p.m. he would be most vulnerable. At some point between these two times, Harry would leave the safety of his apartment to go outside for a smoke, not wanting to set off the smoke alarm in the fancy building of the bourgeoisie.
I lay in ambush, a predator waiting for my prey. In my right inside coat pocket, I had a .380 Ruger LCP III handgun, and in my left inside coat pocket I had a pair of leather gloves and a Swiss army pocket knife. At exactly 10:33 p.m. Harry left the apartment building, and at exactly 10:34 p.m., I saw him light the cigarette.
It was 10:35 p.m. when I took the safety off the gun while keeping it tucked inside my coat. I had to be very cautious, as the neighborhood I was in was one of the wealthiest and heavily policed in all of Manhattan. One mistake, and I would be in handcuffs before I could ever let my finger slip ever so gleefully onto the trigger.
He smoked in innocent bliss in front of Four Park Avenue. Like a lamb, grazing in the fields, awaiting slaughter.
At 10:39 p.m., I remembered the time Harry yelled at me for not finishing my work on time. I remembered how angry I was since I had already gotten several days of extension. That was the week when my mother had died, and I had attempted to use this as an excuse, but Harry would not hear any of it.
“Anybody could come up with excuses. But not everybody can get things done,” he said.
Well, I’ll get things done, alright. I’ll give you what you deserve.
At 10:4 p.m., I remembered the pay difference between my boss and I. Why should he be paid so much, when I am the one who does all of the work? Why must I be complacent in this corrupted society? No, enough is enough. It is time for me to get what I deserve.
We were never equals, not once. There is no equality in this world, only those on top and those on the bottom. A rigid hierarchy of power, a food chain of our own creation.
I took out the gun at 10:32 p.m., just as Harry turned around to walk back into the building. At 10:33 P.M., I pulled the trigger two times. One bullet entered two centimeters to the right of his heart. The other struck four centimeters to the left.
Harry buckled to the floor as his legs gave loose. Red wine stained the chalk white sidewalk, like a bad accident at Olive Garden.
Judging by the absence of footsteps, I had at least one minute and 27 seconds before my identity would be in danger.
I drew closer to my victim.
“Well, old chap. What do you have to say for yourself now?”
“I…I…I never did you any wrong.”
“Is that so? Did you do me no wrong when you treated me like your slave for all these years?”
“I…I didn’t mean to”
“What are your last words?”
22 seconds. The third bullet was ready.
“You…you…you…don’t have to…do…this…This…won’t…solve…anythi—”
But before he could finish, the trigger interrupted him. The third bullet, this time 10 centimeters below the heart.
“…is….a… better…way…”
I became a madman. So consumed with rage I could barely think, my heart pounded with adrenaline. There was no better way, there was no other way, this was the only way, all other ways led back to living underneath the Master’s boot.
The fifth bullet found its target two centimeters below the waist, in the left thigh.
10 seconds.
I could feel every thump of my heart as it pumped with a new-found vigor, a newfound sense of urgency. Harry’s heartbeat, however, slowed to a crawl, until it finally began to asymptotically approach 0.
0 seconds. A woman was walking by the street when she saw blood. She reached for her cell phone. I reached for the trigger.
Minus 1/2 second. The seventh bullet went straight into her heart. Unlike Harry, I did not feel the need to make her suffer.
Minus 23 seconds. The eighth bullet went into another passerby who got too close.
I had deviated from the original timeframe, but there was still time. I should have anticipated my inability to restrain myself from dragging the whole thing out. From bullying me in childhood to ruling over me in adulthood, I could never escape his tyranny. Until now. Finally, I am free.
I thought it may be best to dispose of the bodies, as covering up the crime any other way would be unfeasible in the long run. The probabilities flashed in my head, 21% that the police would trace my fingerprint, 84% they would give me a life sentence, 95% I would go to prison if they ever found the bodies. Fire would do nicely.
Minus 2 minutes 23 seconds.
A pile of 3 bodies. A small vial filled with gasoline and a match were all it took. The complete combustion of C8H18.
Minus 2 minutes and 59 seconds.
My getaway vehicle was a Lyft, the least likely to draw any kind of attention from the police. It would arrive 2 minutes 34 seconds before the police could ever get here from the station.
Minus 10 minutes 34 seconds.
I threw the gun into the murky depths of the Hudson, along with the coat. There was not a hint of remorse in my mind. No excuses, only results. No excuses, only results. Only results. Results.
I made it out, without suspicion, the numbers checked out, the luck I needed came through.
Minus 23 hours 23 minutes.
I came to work and was shocked to hear that my boss had died in a tragic fire.
My new boss came to the office and set down some papers I had turned in the day prior. He looked me square in the eye and beamed with pride.
“A job well done. Impressive. How did you manage to pull it off so quickly?”
I burst out into a fit of maniacal laughter.
“What can I say? I’m good at managing my time.”
“I think it’s about time you got a promotion, son.”
Ben is a computer science major at Penn State but has been a creative visual artist since a young age. He is from near Philadelphia, by King of Prussia, PA.