( Found this small short story hiding in my computer. I can’t for the life of remember what circumstances I was in writing it, even though it’s only dated last month. It’s a side-story to something bigger I tried making but never materialised. There’s a lot more to Eric, Erika, and Hilbert I might have hiding in here if you’re interested. )
Eric was deaf and mute, but he wasn’t blind. He saw when it happened, when the man raised his fist, when he was ready to bring it down, and when the smaller man grabbed the knife and pushed it into his stomach. Everyone said there were no screams, there was only the thunder crackling, the storm clouding their hearing. But Eric heard no thunder. He only saw the man’s eye bulging wide open, the blood dripping from the wound. A thunder flashed in a distance, and the smaller man, the one whose eyes seemed like they had seen Death as well, he used the blinding light to kick his dying assailant and ran further into the darkness.
Eric saw all this from the roof above the two. He did nothing, because what else was there to do? He saw what they had done, both. He would not be the judge, neither would he be the executioner. He saw the big man, the one who used to be at the top of his food chain, crawling on the ground. He saw him pulling the knife out from his body, saw how he opened his mouth wide and stared at the sky with what strength he had left. He knew at the moment then that the man had seen him, a thief lurking. Maybe the man was pleading at him. He didn’t know. There was nothing to it but watching him die. Continue reading “Neither Judge nor Executioner”