An Execution:

Am I the only person who enjoys these death related journals?

So we are walking to the rendezvous. We, you and me. I always call you You, it is just easier that way. We are to meet at precisely 6:00, daybreak I think it’s called. The whole thing is set up to look legit, which it is, you know except for the whole killing thing. Bobby D., Susie Q., John J., You, and me. We meet to discuss the manner of punishment for Billy Z., the guy who screwed us over. I guess in part it is our fault for trusting him, for believing that there was still some good in the world, and that trusting someone wouldn’t result in a kick in the butt.
As we organize ourselves at the round table of Susie Q’s ideal suburban dining room, hatred for Billy Z fills the room. Now I, unlike most of my colleagues, was not severely screwed over by Billy Z. He just filched two rare and precious African jewels, one of which was worth over two million dollars, as well as five grand from a small safe located behind an enormous painting on my bedroom wall. Now I am aware that this may sound like a lot, but when in comparison to the misfortune of my colleagues, it is but miniscule. I could also go into the finer details of Billy Z’s wrong doing to the others, but there is still much that needs to be said, so let us leave it at that.
It is now 6:30 and we, the whole group in this case, are all settled in our seats at the oak table. Each table place is accompanied with a finely folded napkin, a warm fluffy biscuit atop a pure white china saucer, and a customary crystal clear glass of water. This extravagance is expected, seeing as we are meeting in the grand house of Susie Q; however, it is hindering our meeting.
Bobby D, a brute, get-down-to-business man, has had enough of the minor pleasantries. Bobby also happened to be the one that had been wronged the most by Billy Z., so he could not wait to discuss how the group would get back at the scoundrel.

“Billy Z. is the subject matter of this meeting, why are we spending our time breaking bread?” Bobby said, reminding the group of the true cause of the meeting.

“Bobby has a point. How exactly shall we make the scoundrel pay? Monetary forms? No. No. Something more painful that will make him think about what he has done,” said John J.

“I propose death,” Bobby D, the toughest of us all, said.

With a fiendish voice, proper Susie Q., eloquently said, “Shall it be slow and painful, or sudden and unexpected? We can lure him to a fancy restaurant and spike his wine with liquid nicotine, or perhaps rat poison would be more suitable.”

As the others bickered about cruel and certainly unusual punishments, You and I barely said anything. That is until they had gone too far.

It was roughly 8:30 a.m. and the group had begun to settle down, reaching a consensus of torture, specifically branding on Billy Z’s chest of each of our initials. In addition, Billy would be served, or forced, a glass of water spiked with 3 tablespoons of nicotine prior to being put to drown in Susan Q’s Olympic-size swimming pool. Although the others were fine with this idea, You and me saw the faults. If we branded Billy then there would be too much evidence left on the equipment, any rookie detective would be able to figure that out. The nicotine was pretty fool proof except that it would draw a large amount of suspicion to the J’s since they own the local cigarette factory and receive shipments of nicotine bi-weekly. The grand finale, drowning Billy would not only leave a lot of residual evidence, it would also be very difficult to pull off as accidental.

You did not tell them this of course, you were too quiet. You had always been quiet, even in this case of dealing with a robber, a bomber, a rapist, a serial killer. You were still quiet. It did not matter really, I talked for both us.

Breaking the silence I said, “We should not kill him that way…,”

“What do you know?” a rude Bobby D. interrupts, “You have lost the least in this, why should you care?”

“I care because, regardless of the manner, I have still been slighted by Billy Z,” I said in defense.

Shocking us all, a calm and reasonable voice from, aside from the dog, the most unlikely character, utters, “I’ll do it. I’ll kill Billy Z. I can do it quickly, painfully, and inconspicuously, all by tomorrow at 12:00 midnight,” You, said.

“How would such a quiet, whimpy, and clumsy guy as you manage this?”

“I’d rather not discuss it further. Either you trust me to get the job done or not. No evidence, it would be as if Billy Z. was never born,” You explain, anger starts emerging in your voice, but You hold it back.

I along with the rest of the group could tell that You were serious. Although you were known for your quiet manner you had never let us down before. We trusted you with this task of avengance.

The next morning it was as if nothing had ever happened. No news was reported on Billy Z's death and no one, not even relatives, seemed to remember him but us.