[ WP ] You are legally allowed to commit murder once , but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions

Even as I knocked on the door, I still wasn ’ t sure of my decision. I had filed the paperwork, bought the syringe with the lethal drug ( one of the three ways we were allowed to do it ), and planned my when and where. None of it seemed real until this moment. There was always the opportunity to back out or change my mind up until my knuckles touched this very door. I thought that when the time came, I ’ d feel some sort of peace about it. After all, as soon as they announced the bill ’ s passing one name immediately came to mind. The one who ’ d caused so much pain and trouble in the lives of my loved ones. The one who continues to hurt us every single day. Just the one name. 
 
 But instead of peace, I felt terror. None of the questions or doubts that had been plaguing me left my mind. How would I feel after it? Could I continue to live a normal life? I know others who ’ ve done it, but I ’ ve never been sure that I could. Does God forgive me for using my one legal murder? Surely God knows how justified it is. 
 
 I stood at my sister ’ s front door for a few eternal seconds. Would she answer it? Surely she knows by now, so would she just let it happen? She ’ s always been smaller than me, so I could easily overpower her. Her fiancé was another matter. I know he ’ d put up a fight, and there ’ s a very good chance he ’ d win. I had the syringe gripped tightly in my left hand, thumb on the back, ready to inject its deadly substance. I figured freeing up my dominant right hand to restrain or fight someone off would be the best, but now I start to wonder why that thought ever crossed my mind. What the hell do I know? I ’ m not a criminal mastermind after all. What I ’ m doing is perfectly legal, and it ’ s right. 
 
 Footsteps, a pause, and then the door opened suddenly and violently. In the doorway stood my sister ’ s fiancé with a mixed look of rage and fear on his face. Relief swept over me and I became ever more convicted in what I was about to do. I stepped in the door without saying a word and he shut it behind me. We both knew that these things weren ’ t allowed on the streets or in businesses, just in the privacy of your own home. He knew, and he was prepared. 
 
 As soon as the door clicked shut he launched himself at me with a guttural roar. I expected the attack, but had no idea what to do. I threw myself to the side but he caught my legs and yanked me down to the floor. My power has always been in my legs, but even so my kicking did little to keep him from climbing on top of me. I don ’ t know what would have happened if he ’ d seen the syringe. He must not have seen it, because it was too easy. He straddled me, wrapped his hands around my neck and began to squeeze, hard. But it was too late. He left my hands free. Free to plunge the syringe into the side of his neck and fill his veins and arteries with the liquid that ’ s supposed to stop a beating heart in less than 30 seconds. For him it took about 10, I guess because of his quickened heart rate from my brief struggle. His hands slackened, his eyes glazed over, and I managed to roll out from underneath him before he collapsed. I ’ ll never know if he even realized what had happened. I sat in shock for God knows how long before I started to heave and shake violently. There were no tears, only the sound of ragged sobs from my bruised and crushed windpipe. 
 
 My sister. Her car was out front. She must be in the house somewhere, but she didn ’ t come out to the sound of our wrestling match. It felt like it took hours, but maybe it was only a few seconds. I didn ’ t know if I should try to find her or just wait for her to come out. I couldn ’ t trust myself to walk without falling anyways, so I waited. The funny thing is that afterwards, you feel like you can ’ t move, but you also can ’ t stand just sitting there. It ’ s torture. When I couldn ’ t stand it any longer, I got up and entered the hallway that I knew lead to the bedrooms. On the left was the office that they shared, and on the right was their bedroom. She must ’ ve been in the office, probably with headphones on which is why she didn ’ t hear anything. 
 
 I had no idea what I was going to do, or what I was going to say. I opened the door with a trembling hand. No one. She wasn ’ t in the office. But there was only one more room she could be in. There ’ s no way she ’ d sleep through all of that, so she couldn ’ t be napping in there. The shower! The bathroom was all the way in the back of their bedroom, so there ’ s a good chance she wouldn ’ t have heard anything in there over the sound of the water. I stood as still as my body would let me, and tried desperately to hear the sound of running water over my pounding heart and labored breathing. Nothing. 
 
 At this point I began to shake again. I came here for my sister. My beautiful sister who had been my whole life growing up. I stepped towards her bedroom. My sister with her brilliant blue eyes and shining golden hair, always so much more lovely than I. My hand lifted itself to the door handle. My sister who hurt my family so badly when she ran away with her abusive boyfriend. I began to push down. My sister whom I would gladly kill or be killed for. The heaving sobs began again as the door swung open, and I saw my sister who lay on her bed, looking so peaceful except for her beaten and bruised face, and the deep red finger marks around her neck. 
 
 I came to save my sister, but I was too late. 
 

