Lonnie stands next to the island in his kitchen, slapping together a mayonnaise-soaked tuna sandwich. He absentmindedly scratches the scar on his forehead, a lingering reminder of the burning wreckage of what was once a home. He was the only person i managed to save during a building fire and ironically the only one who didn’t deserve to live. The wind blows hard against me, a dog barks in the distance. Lonnie moves to the living room and sits down on the ratty sofa. He has no idea I am here exactly where i have been every night for the past 6 days. Every habit, every movement. Tonight, I am here to right a wrong. My axe feels light and natural, an extension of my body, a vessel of righteousness. He laughs at something he is watching on the TV. Although, i am too far away to hear it, i remember the sound of it. The moment I revived him, he laughed the same way, a laugh that holds a secret. In around 8 minutes Lonnie will go outside to smoke a ciggarette, that will take him around 6 minutes. I check my boots, adjust my balaclava. I check the heavy duty zip-ties in my cargo pocket, still 8 of them. 1 minute. He goes to put his plate in the sink, next to the ones from the last three nights. I hear the lock on the back door disengage. My heart is in my throat-I want to run. I want to leave this whole idea behind. It is not my responsibility to dol out justice at the end of an axe. No matter how much of a piece of human garbage is on the other end. _That whole family is dead because of you. He is alive because of YOU. _My inner monologue taking the reigns. Anger, deep and primal wells within me. I see him cross the threshold on to the back patio. I watch him smoke his cigarette and the smallest shred of rage lingers behind. It is overcome by calm. Calm and a sense of duty, of responsibility. He flicks his cigarette butt into the grass and turns to walk back inside. When he turns to shut the door, he doesn’t even have time to ask who I am.