I sometimes wonder if I have what it takes to kill a man. To look into someone’s eyes, knowing full well that a minute later those eyes will see no more. To point a gun at a beating chest and pull the trigger, knowing that seconds later this-being-that-once-existed, will exist no more. I wonder if I have what it takes to be capable of an act of ultimate violence, to carry forward a death sentence.
Then I close my eyes and picture the man who shot, and killed, my father.
And I know, in that moment that I am very-very capable. I am capable of relishing violence and then, going to bed and – perhaps – sleeping better than I have in the past year. I would kill a man for vengeance, I could look into his eyes and see nothing more than a walking corpse responsible for destroying our lives with a senseless act of greed. And even as I pull the trigger, I may even be cognizant of the fact that my act may destroy someone else’s lives, the way his act destroyed mine. But I know that I would not care. If I met him today, this particular man, I would kill him. And then walk away smiling.