The following text is a work of FICTION. It DID NOT happen. It also needs a title.
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It was 2:00 in the morning on a Thursday night. I was in the city, walking back from the midnight opening of The Ledge, and as I was walking back to my car, I was assaulted by a gunman. I had turned my back to open my car door, and a pistol was pressed against my back.
I dropped my keys on the seat as I put my hands in the air. “Give me your wallet,” the man’s voice was shaky; he was pleading, as though he had never done this before. I took a few seconds to consider my options, and swiftly turned around, grabbed the barrel of the pistol, and twisted it out of his hand, while at the same time hitting the side of his jaw with a palm-heel strike. I then bent him over with a wristlock, and forced him to the ground. I pointed the pistol at him on the ground with two hands—one on the grip, and one on the butt—and stepped back.
The man was rubbing his cheek, where I had struck him. “Please don’t shoot me!” The man was clearly bewildered: he had never considered the possibility that his first time would end so badly for himself.
“Why not? You have threatened my life; what obligation could I possibly have to you?” Adrenaline was still pumping through my veins; it would be easy to kill him.
“I have a family!”
“So do I. Why did you assault me?”
“I…I needed drug money,” this man clearly had nothing to lose, and little to live for. “Please have mercy on me! Aren’t you a Christian?”
“No, no I’m not, actually. Are you?” I said, rather dismissively. The man’s eyes widened: I had appeared to him as Satan incarnate, and he psychologically prepared for his death. He started to cry. Ignoring the real-life consequences of killing the man for a moment, I found him too pathetic to pull the trigger.
“Yes, I am!” he said with a slightly proud tone, as though declaring his love for his Lord and Savior would magically transport him out of the dire situation he immediately finds himself in. It didn’t.
“How can you consider yourself a Christian if you would murder a man in cold blood for drug money?” This response only made the attacker cry harder. Once again, he begged for forgiveness and to be let go.
“Redemption from me will not come easy. At this moment, you may believe that you understand the gravity of what you did, but as you walk home tonight, you may well forget. What guarantee do I have that you won’t try this again? What if I let you go, and I read in the papers next week that you killed someone else? I could only hold myself responsible for that.” The man prostrated himself before me, and was wailing. He clutched at the bottoms of my jeans, promising that he would not repeat his mistake.
Watching him carefully, I slowly lowered my left hand into my pocket and reached for my cell phone. Steadying the pistol to deter him from running away, I called the police and told them what happened. I turned to the pathetic assailant: “The police are on their way. I am going to unload the pistol. If you run, I will catch you.” I removed the magazine, and pulled the slider back as I turned the pistol upside-down. The round in the chamber made a soft high-pitched ring on the sidewalk.
The police arrived shortly after. In that time, I said to him, “You might want to read Crime & Punishment.” The police officers walked up to the scene and told me to drop the weapon. I told them it was unloaded as I slowly placed it on the ground. They collected the weapon and the magazine, and arrested my attacker. They asked me to accompany them to give them a more detailed account of the incident. I obliged.
Epilogue
The man was charged with assault with a deadly weapon and possession of drug paraphernalia. He was addicted to heroin, and was connected to a series of robberies that occurred over the past few months. I later testified in court against him, and he was sentenced to 3 years in prison.
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