by Pete Sortwell
Waiting outside the court there’s been nothing on my mind more than letting the scumbag get the comeuppance he deserves. If the great British justice system can’t serve justice, I will.
I’d been inside, of course. A two year suspended sentence he’d been given. That basically means he doesn’t go to prison at all for what he did. A day in court, a couple of hours in the cells, and he’s deemed to have paid his debt to society. Well, he hasn’t paid his debt to my dead wife and baby yet.
This country does nothing for the victims of crime. He chose to get behind the wheel of his motor after six pints, he chose to drive it down the high street at sixty miles an hour. No one, least of all my loved ones, chose to have a red Fiesta drive over them causing horrific injuries.
Getting the call was one of the worse moments of my life. I can’t remember putting the phone down or leaving the office. I remember getting to the scene to find the emergency services lifting the car off of my wife. There was blood everywhere. My daughter was found in someone’s garden, she died from head injuries. My wife was in such a bad state, almost cut in half. It would have been a painful death. That’s what this cunt will be getting, too. Peter Andrews, a Lawyer, no less. No wonder they let him off. The Judge said he’d have to suffer for the rest of his life, I don’t suppose he knew how short that would be.
I’d had the conversations with my parents, of course, they’d begged me not to do it and waste another life. I, of course, agreed not to, but in the back of our minds I think we all knew I was lying. Killing this guy is the only way I will die anything close to happy.
He comes out, all smiles and relief. His family in tow. This just makes me all the more angry. How dare he? I wasn’t going to do it in front of his kids, but I couldn’t help it. I ran over from the bench I’d been waiting on. I still remember the look on his face as the broken bottle I was holding came towards his face. It was a look of shock. The impact isn’t what I expected, it’s firmer; I expect the bottle to break up more, but it doesn’t, it just goes deep into his face. The plan had been to pull it out, but it seems like it’ll hurt more if I leave it in. I pull the knife out my belt and go to work on the vital organ areas with that. There’s screaming and at one point a woman jumped on my back, but she was light enough to throw off.
The police came, of course. I knew they would. Cells, court, his kids and wife looking at me, prison, Mum crying, and then numb. Killing him was easy.
It’s living with it that’s hard.