Authors Notes: A little leftover frustration at the injustice in the world. Not exactly decompression, but it will do. It does not mention anyone by name so I don't have to claim not to own them. But I'm sure you all know who's head I was trying to roll around in when I wrote this.

The Calling

by dHALL

There are some sick, twisted people out there. Truly sick people who should not be allowed to exist.

They need to be rounded up in herds and taken out into the street and shot.

But that isn't my job.

I've met a lot of these people. If you can call them people anymore. They've become monsters to me now that we've become so well acquainted. Monsters that roam our streets and prey on the innocent stripping them of their rights. The right to be safe, the right to be happy and the right to live are all taken and crushed. But yet these creatures retain their own rights to inhabit the same planet as I do.

But I have never made the rules.

Wild animals are shot when they can no longer co-exist without harming our species. It is a swift execution. Swift and unceremonious. Does this breed of animal deserve anything better than that?

But that has never been my decision to make.

Looking over file after file, I know too well what we are capable of doing to each other. I've seen it. I've smelled it. I've had to wipe it off my hands and scrape it off my shoes at the end of the day. I've almost become numb to the things that I see.

But that doesn't mean it will not haunt my dreams.

What in the HELL makes men do these things? I suppose whatever drives them is from Hell. It's an evil that just cannot be put into words. And I can't help but wonder if there is any chance of redemption for this world and the sick bastards who make up the majority of the population.

But that doesn't mean I've given up hope.

There are still good people out there. I know a few of them. At least I think I do. I hope I am one of them, but evil isn't the only force that takes lives. It's a choice I've been required to make more times that I want to count and one that follows me every day of my life. Good People? That's an oxymoron isn't it?

But that doesn't mean that I am not aware of it's meaning.

This is what I was born to do.

I'm seeing it more and more each day.

My eyes are opened wider now. Now more than ever. I watch every shadow. Every stranger. And I can't help but wonder if the next door neighbor, or the boss, or an office pal is one of those sick twisted people driven by some unknown evil that hides right below the surface where it can't be seen until it chooses to expose itself.

Or until I can expose it.

I still don't make the rules.

But I enforce them.

I still don't choose who deserves to live.

And who deserves to die.

But I can see to it that twelve others have the right to make that choice.

And so now I haunt their dreams.

I am the hope the innocent cling to.

I will do what must be done.

It's just not safe out there.

And I've got to go to work.