One year ago, he lost everything. Tonight, the debt comes due.
Writer’s Prompt
The rain in this city doesn’t wash anything away; it just moves the filth from one gutter to another.
Mark Stillman sat in the dark, the only light coming from the rhythmic, neon pulse of a “Liquor” sign across the street. Red. Blue. Red. Blue. It matched the heartbeat he’d felt in his ears for exactly 365 days.
A year ago, a judge decided that his wife’s laugh and his son’s future were worth exactly six months of time served and a $5,000 fine. The driver, a man named Miller with a high-priced lawyer and a low-functioning conscience, walked out of the courtroom smiling.
Mark hadn’t smiled since. He’d been patient. He’d watched Miller’s social media—the celebratory shots, the new car, the total lack of remorse. Mark checked the calendar on the wall. A jagged red “X” marked today’s date. The anniversary.
He opened the desk drawer. The metal felt cold, an honest kind of cold that the legal system lacked. He pulled out the .38 Special, its weight a heavy promise in his palm. He slid six rounds into the cylinder. Click. Click. Click. He stood up, pulled on his trench coat, and walked to the door. He knew exactly where Miller would be: The Rusty Anchor, celebrating another year of being “lucky.”
Mark reached the bar, the smell of cheap gin and regret hitting him like a physical blow. He saw Miller in the corner booth, glass raised, laughing at a joke. Mark’s hand tightened on the steel in his pocket. He took a step toward the booth, his shadow stretching long across the floor. Miller looked up, his eyes meeting Mark’s. The laughter died.
Mark reached into his pocket.
Finish the Story
Does Mark pull the trigger and become the very monster he seeks to punish, or does he find a different way to make Miller pay? The hammer is back. The choice is yours.