Did you ever think that a person would be so offended that they might actually have the cojones to commit violence? That’s what happened to me. My once best friend assaulted and beat my wife. He did it with the intent to kill her. She survived and was hospitalized and in traction for six weeks.

This was a most heinous event that no lawyer, and no amount of money could fix. There was only one way that I had heard of that might be a permanent fix to the problem. But it must be agreed upon and settled with at least six witnesses of high standing. The weapons would be provided by the offended party, for my case: a magnum .45 revolver with two bullets. The bullets would be set in opposing chambers to offset a double action. Each weapon would be inspected closely by each witness to ensure that no foul play was intended. This was an offense not only toward my wife, this was an offense directed toward me, and my masculinity was called into question. Hence, this duel must take place.

A judge was called, with both parties’ agreement, the duel was set to take place. We contenders had three days to set our affairs in order. I spent the majority of my time with my wife and we ensured that her well being would be well looked after. My father was proud but worried. My mother was dismayed but stood proud, for she had come to expect this sort of thing from me. My brothers and sisters, cousins and nephews, all of my gathered family embraced me and though tears were shed, none tried to talk me out of it. They all understood. Indeed, it took my word to stop the lynch mob from hanging my friend from a high tree.

From certain friends, I understood that my best friend spent all of his time in clubs and drinking away his health. He had no family. He had no wife, not even a girlfriend. Perhaps he never understood how to treat women. It matters not, the damage was done and my wife suffered for his brash stupidity. 

He had been my best friend for as many days that have been graced upon the earth. He was my best man. He was my brother in bond. Such a man was good and hard to find. I cannot fathom why he chose to insult me in this way.

The dawn of the day,

A crowd had gathered,

The participants signed the wavers,

The judge and witnesses inspected and signed, 

My eyes were clear and piercing,

My opponent’s were glassy and red,

He looked like he had been crying all night,

The weapons were distributed and paces were taken,

At twenty paces we both turned and faced each other,

I pointed my gun straight and true,

He with a sturdy hand pointed straight as well,

He however pointed his gun up and looked down the barrel,

He was sobbing,

I fired and missed intentionally,

I was hoping to pull him out of his funk,

To get him to fight,

He threw his gun down in frustration,

And kneeling he got on his knees,

His eyes were wet with tears,

He was awaiting for my judgment.

1

I could feel my rage at him only increase while he feel on his knees. I could feel nothing more than a piercing gaze going down the barrel of my gun. I pulled the trigger once again. It clicked. He flinched, but did not move. The chamber was empty. Again, another empty chamber. The last time, I was met with success. I felt the kickback of the monster gun. My rage and my honor had been satisfied. I fell to my knees and I wept, I killed my brother, my friend. And though my honor had been satisfied my soul had been permanently wounded.

2

Was my finger too tight?

Had my vision gone blurry?

I felt tears run down my cheeks.

It was my turn to weep.

What am I doing?

I throw down my weapon in frustration.

I walk over to my friend. 

I feel the grass under my boots crunch with frozen dew. Each step is like a sense of forgiveness. When I get to my friend kneeling to me, I get down on my knees and I hug his neck. His tears wet my shirt. He knows that he has done wrong, he knows that he has forfeited his life to me. Though my hatred for him is great. My life without him would be empty, and I would be different.