Friday, May 14, 2010

Click.

I take a very deep breath, and despite all my instincts that tell me to turn around and flee -- I walk into my fear and away from the beast.

"Sir?" I say as I take another cautious step forward in the dark.

His groans are garbled.

Probably the blood?

I have no idea why I'm compelled to walk into this obvious death trap, but I take another step forward and then another. As I approach, the rancid smell becomes more obvious.

From what I can make out in the dark, he has shot himself. He is barely alive.

As I crouch down and look at him, I can see pain and regret wash over his face. But then, a moment later all that is replaced by the presence of an evil that always lurks. An evil waiting to take over the best of who we are. An evil that prays on our insecurities and anxieties, forcing us to control through fear. To expect the worst, and be the worst.

An inevitable byproduct of our human condition.

"Sir?" I say as I lean forward, working through my own fear and keeping my own beast at bay for now. I don't want to give in to thoughts of 'worst case scenarios' just yet.

I look into his eyes. His sockets are swollen and fractured from the impact of the gun shot. His breathing is rapid and shallow. I can see a certain vulnerability in this man that allowed for fear and anxiety to fester into rampant madness and rage.

He is lost and afraid.

The depths of his pupils burn an angry black-red colour that offers the only embers in this dark room on this stormy night. I take a second to make eye contact, hoping that on some level he will reconnect with compassion and kindness. That not all hope is lost, and that not everyone is a bad person out to do harm.

Click.

I look down to see his wobbly hand pointing his gun straight at me. The claws of the beast hold the gun firmly from beneath the layer of skin and bone.

The beast knows only to control through violence.

I open my mouth to try and talk some sense into this poor soul, but the beast starts to move the man's index finger on the trigger.

I have no choice but to make eye contact with the burning red supernatural eyes, and hope that on some level I can connect with his lost soul that is a greater power buried underneath the weight of the beast.

I want him to know that he can expel the beast. That he doesn't have to be victim to it. That he can surpass this. That hope is not lost...

In my plea I begin to whisper a prayer for this man's lost soul -- asking God and the heavens to intervene and cleanse his mind. I pray for him, and not myself -- for I am not as lost as he, and so I have an obligation to guide him towards a better alternative.

A moment later a white light pours through the window onto this man's face. At first I think it's the moonlight breaking through the clouds, but then I realize that maybe it's a source from a power greater than all of us; attempting to reclaim one of it's own.

The man trembles. The beast roars.

I feel a hand softly pat the top of my head; and a second later --

The gun goes off.