I don't know that anyone ever wants to admit that they are capable of violence of any kind, let alone being able to take a life, but, the truth is, when pushed far enough, it can happen. For me it happened not when I thought it would, but, at a time when I least expected it. You see, I know I would willingly have resorted to any means necessary, regardless of my own fate, if it would have guaranteed the deaths of those who had taken my family from me. What I didn't know, was that I was capable of taking a life with my bare hands with little or no warning for far less.
It came out of no where, or should I say he did, a mugger who attacked without knowing that his act would be one of his last. I was struck first, a lead pipe to the back of my head sent me to the ground, when I regained consciousness all I saw was him struggling with Abby and I knew I had to save her. I guess I went mad, or maybe I thought to protect her in the way I hadn't been able to protect my own family. I grabbed him, roughly pulling him off of her before I began repeatedly slamming his head into the pavement. I lost track of how many times I picked him up, how many times he hit the concrete. I don't even remember hearing Abby's cries for me to stop. All I could see was anger at what he had done, and then somehow I heard her, but too late for him.
He was barely alive when the ambulance arrived, his skull was shattered, there was nothing anyone could do, and then it was all over. I'd killed a man, and they were worried about a gash on the back of my head, I felt sick. The police said my actions were justified, and no charges would be filed for the man's death. He'd gotten what he deserved others would say, but, his blood was on my hands. I had to live with my actions, I had to live with my rage, and I had to wonder when the madness might surface again.