Room of Unforgiveness

Fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over everything. It might've been cold. I hardly noticed. The heat of my rage, and the frozen lump of ice behind my ribs that should have been pounding, were uncomfy bedfellows.

The wooden benches were hard and unforgiving. The air so thick with tension I could hardly breathe. Maybe that was the weight of what I was going to do.

I could describe the room, except I didn't really see it. Only her face. Always her face. Agony and beauty described in those rounded cheeks, those curls. I miss her. So much. My little princess. Grief and rage ate at me every day since he ripped he from me. There should have been nothing left. Perhaps there wasn't.

If I didn't hold that picture of her always in front of my eyes, I might forget what she looked like. Or worse, I might start to imagine what she looked like when he was...

I knew they wouldn't deal justice. Whatever they laid on him, it wouldn't be enough. Seeing his face made my blood boil and run cold at once. I didn't want to see his mocking smirk, or his contrition, or his crocodile tears. But I did want to stare at his face, and, in my head, set fire to it. Put it out with with the gavel. Or nails.

Greedy eyes and ears gobbled up the sordid details of what he did to her. A unique torture, reliving the horror of her last moments in such a cold and clinical fashion. I could almost believe it'd happened to someone else. Would that I could! That each word wasn't a dagger to the heart I thought frozen solid.

But my heart wasn't frozen. It was black, though, and separate from me. It pulsed in my handbag. Patient. Impatient. I waited until he was on the witness stand. I had a clear shot. I took it. I took my heart from my bag, and I took aim. I fired true.

For my princess.

The aftermath is a blur. Nothing mattered, after Sophie... I did what I had to. I don't care who judges me or how. I sleep at night.

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Word count: 366

(NB. This excludes the title, subtitle, and author's note.)

Submitted on Saturday 12th October at 13:58

The story behind the story: Inspiration here is Marianne Bachmeier, who shot a man in the courtroom. He was on trial for the rape and murder of her seven year old daughter, Anna. She was arrested for murder, but I believe this was later brought down to a manslaughter charge. She was sentenced to six years, but only served three. Anna was her third child. The first two were placed for adoption. Apparently Marianne was considering placing Anna for adoption, too.

Edit to add (sorry): Forgot to mention this is for Marie Sinadjan's Spooky Bingo. I've gone with Feminine Rage.

A Year of Stories: I'm writing (and submitting, here) a story every day this year. This continues my 286 daily micro-fiction story streak since 1st January.

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