Would I not cling to life as desperately? Does every crime he commit drag him deeper into Hell and every sunset spring him from a darker pit? Can I condemn him then?
And yet, I know, I must.
Kneeling beside the dead man, I whisper, “Forgive me. I don’t know another way.”
I hold the stake over his heart and raise the mallet to strike. A glance at that expressionless face, a pause, a question: Does this free him? I see acceptance, if I wish. Does it damn? and I see dreadful fear. Frozen in ignorance, I shut my eyes.
Tale Told 