His Code

Photos Courtesy of Crispina Kemp

He kept moving- because motion was the only thing keeping the full weight of what he’d done from crushing him.

All he could see was the face of the innocent victim, bruised and broken, eyes wide with terror, lips frozen in a scream that was too scared to escape. No. It had not been his business- but he had put a stop to the perpetrator’s violence anyway. The law would call it murder, but his code called it necessary.

Through the trees, he spotted a run-down old shack, gutted, yes- but a promise of dry floor and brief reprieve. His body ached for it, every muscle screaming for rest.

But he could not let desire cage him. Shelter meant a trap waiting to close.

He hesitated, chest heaving, then turned away.

For now he’d have to keep moving- to outrun what they would say he’d become. 

Each step offered him both penance and proof- that some wrongs can only be righted by acts that the law would never allow to go unpunished.

This is my response to the photo offered this week on Crimson’s Creative Challenge #058– I used both the one offered and bonus shot of the same- as I thought they made marvelous bookends.

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