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Priceless Mercy

An Impossible Choice

By Luke WoodruffPublished 2 years ago Updated 2 years ago 5 min read
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Human life is precious, no matter the human. That's what I would tell myself every night over and over so I could get to sleep. That's why I didn't kill him. I used to dream and fantasize about killing him, but when it came down to it, I aimed the gun lower. Was I a coward? Or did I truly believe in the sanctity of life? These very questions were the source of my torment throughout each day. And I did not know the answers.

It was 3 months ago to the day that I had shot William Singleton. He was on trial for assaulting my mother rather brutally. A rich relative of his bailed him out though. Several times during the trial he managed to get close to my mother and whisper threats of further violence. Twice I had lost my temper and attacked him in open court. The second time he laughed maniacally as the bailiffs dragged me off to a cell to cool off for the night. The loss of my temper led to my mother being unprotected for the night. I did not let it happen again. Thank God Singleton did not choose that night to try and silence her. It was a week later that he made his move. Being out on bail meant that he was free to do as he pleased until found guilty. I knew from friends who had been through similar ordeals that Singleton would not get more than 7 years, no matter how heinous his crime. So, I wanted desperately to end his life, ensuring that he would never cause anyone this hurt ever again. All I needed was legal justification to do so. I would stay up nights at my mother's house, seated in an arm chair in the living room, a fully loaded 12 gauge shotgun resting on my lap. Cup after cup of coffee kept me alert.

One night, just after midnight, I heard light footsteps crunch the gravel just outside the front window. Slowly and as quietly as possible, I rose from my chair and seated the butt of the shotgun tightly in my right shoulder. I crept towards the window and lifted the blinds with the barrel of my weapon. I saw no one, but the motion light had been activated. I tip-toed from window to window, searching diligently every viewpoint that I could see from inside. Nothing. It was eerily silent. I recognized that I was on edge, but the steps I heard were to loud and deliberate to be an animal. I hated to expose myself in the dark, but I had to check outside. Hesitantly, I opened the front door. The loud creaking sound made it clear to anyone within a quarter mile that I was coming outside, so I abandoned noise discipline and quickened my pace. With the shotgun raised at the ready, I scanned every point of the yard. Tree, grass, fence line, window, window. I saw nothing. In the moment that I dropped my guard, I heard glass shattering on the side of the house behind me. My mother's screams immediately followed the shocking sound. It was Singleton. He was in the house. I sprinted back inside towards my mother's room, my hands clenched tightly around my shotgun. Upon kicking her door open, I saw Singleton on top of her, one hand around her throat and the other holding her down by her hair. He looked back at me and smiled, as though he were the one being attacked and I was his savior. The butt of my weapon smashed in his nose before he could blink. He dropped to the floor and I aimed directly at his head, boiling over with adrenaline and rage. The sadness in his eyes disarmed me of my anger. It was as though he had no choice in his actions, and being controlled by another force, begged for mercy as best he could. Suddenly, he produced a knife and was lunging toward me. Time stood still. In that moment, I had a choice with more clarity than I had ever experienced. The sorrow deep in his eyes intensified as he raised his knife hand, a split second from striking. It was then that I chose. Lowering the shotgun's barrel, I pulled the trigger and blew holes in both his knee caps. He collapsed, rocking back and forth, weeping in agony. His pitiful eyes met mine and he repeated only on phrase: "Thank you. Thank you." Even my mother glared at him with merciful tears in her eyes.

At the trial's conclusion, Singleton received 10-15 years as a repeat offender. Given that he was already 52 and looked haggard, not to mention that he would never walk again, I imagined his days of hurting people were at an end. A week later, after fighting the guilt and regret of letting him live, I sat in my mother's kitchen as she cooked me dinner. My sorrow was palpable. My sweet mother noticed my sorry state and set down her stirring spoon, walked over to me, and embraced my head. I began to cry, "Mom, I'm so sorry. I couldn't do it. I was a coward. I should have killed that bastard! He should be in the ground!" My tears flowed all the more as she held me closer. Her soothing voice answered my pleas for forgiveness,

"Oh, no son. You saved my life." She took my face in her hands, "I'm so proud of you. A lesser man would have killed him. But you showed mercy. Who knows what good God may do through him. He may even one day seek forgiveness and be redeemed himself. You did the right thing." I raised my head as my sorrow melted away. She wiped the tears from my cheeks as I spoke once more,

"You don't think I'm weak?" She smiled before answering,

"No son. You're the strongest man I've ever known."

capital punishment
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About the Creator

Luke Woodruff

I’ve self published one novel so far but hope to write more.

I have an MFA in acting from the ART/MXAT at Harvard University, was in the Marine Corps, and I’m married to the best girl on Earth.

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