The man sat in the deep hallow hall, with the sound of the choir reverberating off the chandaliers and the glass panels with saturated colors. He was a killer. A paid killer to keep lives safe he took other lives away, oh what a concept he found that to be. He sat with his back to the stage and his head down, resting on his knees. He was unseen to the hundreds of people intently listening to the music since he was sitting on the floor, away from everyone in the first row. He could feel the vibrations of th speakers behind him. He felt alone except for a nice old african american lady who hummed and rocked to the music, her eyes closed and her mind wide open.
He breathed in, and see he was dumbfounded. Because what he saw day in, day out he learned to only fear God, and not the weapons of the weak, and especially not the weakness of the heart.
But here he cried, silently under the roar of the organs and the violins and the pulsing piano and the powerful electricity. His heart trembled for that girl in that lonely lagoon, it was wishful thinking. He;d never been able to feel the tears that tore ruts into his skin, for he feared not the weakness of the heart.
But now, oh now he was free. And the man left that night and swore never to shoot anyone ever again, even if his life depended on it.
