Ben Loory
The Assassin
a parable
The assassin has killed many, many times. He doesn’t even think of it as wrong.
It’s just what I do, the assassin says. If you want to blame someone, blame God.
One night the assassin goes to kill a man. He stands on the roof of a building.
But just as his finger tightens on the trigger, there’s a shot.
And his victim falls.
What happened? the assassin says in confusion. Did someone else just kill my man?
He leaps flights downstairs all the way to the street.
In the distance, he hears footsteps, running.
The assassin chases after the footsteps. He chases them through the streets of the city.
He chases them down, down into the sewers, through the black, stinking tunnels for an eternity.
And then, finally, at the bottom of the world, the assassin finds the footsteps are gone.
It’s just him, now, alone in the dark, with nothing left for him to follow.
Come back! the assassin yells into the dark. Come back and face me like a man!
But there is no answer. There is only silence.
I’ll get you one day! the assassin screams.
After a while, a group of men show up. All of them are wearing bright badges.
Are you the guy who killed that guy? they say.
The assassin considers, then nods.
The assassin is put on trial for murder. He stands and lies to the court.
I did it, he says. Just me and no one else. And now I want to pay for it.
The assassin sits alone in his cell. The lights flicker; the chair is being tested.
A priest comes in and sits down beside him.
The assassin looks at him and laughs.
And when they come to strap him in, the assassin doesn’t say a word.
Because he knows when they flip the switch, he’ll finally get to even the score.
The assassin has killed many, many times. He doesn’t even think of it as wrong.
It’s just what I do, the assassin says. If you want to blame someone, blame God.