RETRIBUTION
ALM No.67, August 2024
SHORT STORIES
Salvador. Not the country, a city. Embed with the natural wonders like its Spanish counterpart. The calm winter breeze. Droplets fell from the sky, a memory of the past storm. The ocean swung as music play in pubs near the shore.
In this calm and starry night, two officers talked next to a cell. An old man who knew little but enough to be part of the police, Sergio, and a young woman, Licia, whose innocence was taken by the brutality of the streets. Don’t let the scenery fool you, violence in this place is a question and yes is always the answer.
“I hope these men in robes will finally stop interfering with our work,” Sergio said.
“Me too. They do their job, we do ours,” Licia replied.
From the darkness within the cell, a figure appeared. This man is a killer, but not just a simple one. He is one of the worst kinds, one who operated under the law. One who chains were broken by the system, one who will not suffer any consequences.
“I have to agree, I was just doing my job. Like you all,” the killer said.
“Don’t worry, man. We are doing our best to get you all of this. In fact, the chief is putting all their effort on helping you,” Licia replied.
“I don’t blame you; how could you know that man wasn’t a thug? That part of the city is dangerous. You did right by not trusting anyone. Do yourself a favor and don’t feel guilty over this,” Sergio said.
“Thank you, man. I appreciate it.”
“Don’t worry, this is a rite of passage. All police officers go through this,” Licia said.
From afar, they heard a scream. No. Not a scream, screams. Nothing alarming at first, but the sound increased and kept coming. Closer and louder. It was here now, in the station near the cells. The police officers pulled out their guns, pointing them to the door.
A dark figure appeared; The head covered with a mask. The eyes of once frightened boy. Suffering, pain. The police officers didn’t flinch or ask. It was Salvador after all. They shot, not only shot but emptied the whole cartridge clip. It didn’t matter anymore, what’s pain for someone covered in blood? The blood of innocent, the blood of the womb. Born from an unforgiving place. The figure punched, smashed, obliterated the officers. A meaningless death, why? The killer in the cell asked himself.
“Who are you?” the killer said.
“I am retribution.” The figure replied before landing the final blow.
Luccas Lima is a Brazilian writer who resides in Orlando, Florida. When he is not writing and creating he likes to play sports, particularly soccer. Movies, games and comics are his passion alongside writing and his little shih-tzu called Mel.