Author: The Magician Joseph PM
A wasteland of human dreams, were lives are shattered every day, but one man remains faithful, but what happens if faith is pushed beyond tempermentRated: Fiction M - English - Horror/Adventure - Chapters: 9 - Words: 4,160 - Reviews: 23 - Updated: 07-10-05 - Published: 12-29-04 - id: 1794891
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A few days after Wendell had run his rampage through the crack house, a boy stood outside a gas station. Captain Cristo's Gas-N-Go the sign read in old neatly printed letters.
Across the barren street a large man sat on the corner peering at the activity through his shaded spectacles, this man was in fact monitoring the activity all around him, monitoring for his own sick purpose. This man was in fact none other than Wendell. His new hobby was spending the days watching looking for potential "evil doers" he could bring justice to.
At night his cruel punishment was given brutally and inhumanly to all he saw fit, which was becoming increasingly less discriminating. Sometimes those he punished he had seen during the day sometimes, he just "took a walk" and found what he was looking for. Because here, what you were looking for, usually found you.
The boy nervously walked into the gas station and a few minutes later walked out, cuddling a lump of stolen goods under his threadbare green sweater.
Wendell followed the boy, shadowing him carefully until they were out of site from most viewers, except of course the winos.
Wendell slid up behind the boy, who couldn't be much older, then thirteen.
"Though shall not steal, no matter what thy hunger is, be it lust, drugs, or for food, pray for forgiveness."
He placed his hands on the sides of the boy's head gripping down firmly. The kid a nervous wreck by now, passed out.
Wendell snapped his neck with out a smile and left his dead body there.
Sometimes God's word was cruel.
Wendell walked back to his dark apartment, letting himself in, and walking to the dirty kitchen. He fixed himself a small cheese sandwich and ate it with out saying anything; nothing was there to be said.
And he went on with his day not making any attempts to upkeep his previous life all he was now was God's vengeance. He just sat on the corner of his bed, praying, praying and thinking of how he would further God's means on earth.
Even though his soul was lost, he could still make other's lives better.
His job would continue his evening at dusk.
At night, God's justice was furthered; the proof of this was the fact that someone in the morning would wake up and would find a pimp's severed head as their new hood ornament.