Ignorant Masses

There is going to be a murder here. I can't tell you how I know, I
just know. They're going to drag him out into this very alley. They
will beat him up over there, making sure he doesn't lose consciousness
when they drag him over to where I'm standing. They will each fire off
bullets anywhere they want until the man slumps down and the beats stop
coming from his chest. Even then, they'll keep shooting, just so no one
is able to recognize the victim.

I know who's going to die; I've met him many times before. He's a man
of short stature but he still believes himself to be better than anyone
else. I asked him for a job in my younger days, he called my talents
useless and that I was better off cleaning the ground before his feet.
Up until a few months ago, I had never seen him again, but then he got
into politics. A nasty place for a man to be I've always
believed.

He came to the coffee shop, the one I always go to in the mornings to
try and get some inspiration for my books I rarely do, but it's still
nice to come and watch the people pass by. I went there this morning ,
but all I saw were people who did not know what I know, people who do
not have to make the decision I have to make.

He was there a few months ago, I recognized him and walked over, I
casually mentioned that I am now a professional writer and make twice
the money he does. Again, he pushed me off saying that literature was
one of the most useless things in the world. Unless something was fact,
it was not worth reading. I should have ended it right there, I should
have walked away and never talked to him again. But I went up to him
again, the next day.

He looked up at me with undoubtedly his best patronizing smile and
asked how he may help me. I told him that I wanted to compete with him
in a political debate. Nothing fancy of course just right there in the
caf? at that table. He smiled at me again and readily agreed.

We stared off with his ideas to ban certain books from libraries. He
believed that many of these were unsuitable for the ignorant public to
read. One such book was the Time Machine; he believed that people would
read this and get it into their heads that we can actually travel
through time. Which he said was of course impossible and even if we
ever did come up with such technology the "ignorant masses" would never
be a part of any time travel.

Here was another chance I had to leave but I didn't. The argument
continued on and on long into the day. Me defending the "ignorant
masses" and him insulting them every chance he got. "My people" were
not smart enough to realize what was good for us. "My people" were not
strong enough to ever become something important.

Eventually I was able to hold my tongue long enough to realize it was
night and that it was best if I just headed home. The idea also struck
to write about my debate in a book. I could expose this man for the
self-centered egotistical slug that he was. It took me four months to
complete, but at the end I was very impressed with it. My publisher
loved it and he claimed it was my best work.

It was out on the shelves two months later, another two months after
that I was out on the street begging for food. My book is a big
success, it's selling out in every store in town, but I don't get any
of the money. He sued me, for everything I had and everything I would
make on the book. I found out that his lawyer is less ignorant than my
lawyer.

He's going to die right here. There will be three men. One will stand
to the diagonal left of us, the other to the diagonal right and the
last directly in front. I don't know guns well enough to know what guns
they will use, but they will buy them today right before the shop
closes. They will pay twice as much so that they can get the guns
without the background check or having to wait the required time.

I don't know if I'm going to stop it. I think he deserves to die, but
who am I to choose? After all, he has a family; I saw them. They came
to the caf? once; a wife and daughter. The wife seemed to be distracted
and the daughter was too young to know anything, still just a baby she
is. She has blonde hair and blue eyes but they all seem to when they're
young.

I watched them for awhile, they didn't talk, he simply sat staring,
not even looking at his wife or young daughter. The wife did her best
to seem occupied with her food or her daughter as if to convince
herself she was too busy to talk.

He makes his family miserable; there is no reason why I should stop
his murder. He has enough money, my money, to keep his family richly
living for the rest of their lives. He daughter would grow up with
pity, everyone being her friend, because she never got to know her
father. She would be stronger for it and his wife would be able to
marry whomever she wanted.

Everyone would be happier without him; I have no reason to save him.
Nothing but the sense of guilt, at allowing the death of a fellow human
being.

He wouldn't save me, if I our places were reversed. I'm just another
member of the "ignorant masses" not smart or powerful enough to amount
to anything. I will show him, I'm going to regain my former fame and
fortune; I will work myself up from my place in this damp dark
alleyway.

But he, he will be dead, a mangled and tortured corpse in a dark
alley. He'll be just another John Doe, for they'll make sure there is
no evidence as to his true identity. Gruesome though it will be, they
will make him one of the "ignorant masses" he so despises.

I have sat here for hours trying to find some reason to stop his
murder. Something that deems him worthy enough to live, but I have
found nothing. His career has been spent taking advantage of everyone
he could. He fired people to gain power, many of which had no other way
to support their families.

My watch reads half-past five, the shop will be closing soon, Bob and
Mike will be waiting, and they're already there, picking out which guns
to buy.