The torment of a conscience

TW// sexual violence, suicide, and mental health

There is a day that I will never forget.

The day I betrayed myself, my conscience.

To this day, I did not know what came over me to act the way I did.

But against all morals, against the boundaries I have put on myself, I watched him burn with satisfaction as I listened to his pleas while flames steadily approached him.

“This is probably what they felt too, you know, the people you hurt.” I said softly.

I could have saved him.

I knew I could have, yet, I didn’t.

He did not deserve to be saved, he deserved to writhe in torture surrounded in flames, and he deserved to scream in agony as his eyes hopelessly clung onto mine, the only one who could save him.

For one last time, I smiled at him before turning around to leave.

The abandoned warehouse was at last engulfed in flames, and though I never turned back, I could feel the flames watching me leaving the place as I let them take its prey.

His screams of pain echoed in my ears, which, against all odds, I found soothing to hear.

It was not me who set the fire, nor was it me who brought that trash of a man and chained him to the pole in the old warehouse.

The only thing I could have done was to let him have another go at his life, which I refused to, for I have seen what kind of a lowlife he was, harassing and assaulting countless women of all ages, even causing some young girls to take their own lives.

Did those girls deserve it?

No, never.

So he was asking for it, he was asking for this fate of his.

I returned to my car, and put on my seatbelt as if nothing happened. I waited for a while, and I could see my pale expressionless face reflected by the side mirror through the corner of my eyes.

With the turn of the key, I started my car, and drove away from the scene, even then, my eyes would constantly find the burning warehouse through the rear view mirror all the way until it completely disappeared from my line of sight.

Along the main street, people were going back and forth, minding their own business after work, some going to their homes, some going on dates, some taking their families out to dinner.

They had no idea what had just happened. They had no clue that the old abandoned warehouse was in flames, and someone living is being burnt alive in it.

They had no clue, that I, the one who would play it safe the most had let it happen.

My phone rang as I was in deep in thought.

I snapped back to reality, and looked at the caller ID, it was my friend, Morgan who happened to be detective at the local police station.

I answered her call.

“Is everything alright?” I asked.

I heard her voice, quite hurried and agitated, “Well, we got a call about a fire at the warehouse close to where you live, the police and fire brigade are on their way, but I just wanted to check in with you to make sure everything is alright.”

I knew her ‘everything’ actually meant ‘me’.

In other words, she was worried about me.

I replied, “Yeah I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Alright then, I will be coming with the police so, I will let you know the details later.”

“Sure, uh- by the way, I am not at home now, actually I am in the city, just came to get some stuff.” I said before I even thought.

“Oh okay, see you tomorrow I guess, then.”

Morgan ended the call.

I suddenly felt like I couldn’t breathe. It was like there was something stuck in my throat, and my chest, I felt suffocated.

I tried my best to calm down taking in few deep breathes.

Tell me, if I felt this way moments ago, would I have taken a different decision?

With shaky hands, I placed the phone down, and started driving to the city, where I said I would be.

I had just rented a small apartment at a complex in the heart of the city. This was my second home, where it was easier for me to travel back and forth.

That night, I did not remember how I found the correct apartment number, or how I typed the passcode, or how I even remembered the correct numbers. It was only when I have locked the door behind me that I realized I have arrived at my destination.

It was as if I was sleep walking.

I sat on the grey couch in the living room, and spaced out for a while. Then I felt restless, scared, and at a loss as to what to do. In the end, I laid down on the couch facing the ceiling.

I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to feel that guilt, terror, and that disappointment in myself. I was in a haste to run away from my own feelings.

So as to distract myself, I turned to social media, even then as I scrolled mindlessly one video after the other, I wasn’t still taking in anything.

In the end, I had to resort to taking my sleeping pills, something that I have avoided taking for a long time.

Once the drug kicked in, I was pretty much drowsy, and my mind stopped working instantly as I drifted off to a sleep plagued with nightmares.

As far as I have known, when a person killed another, they would dream about the person they killed, they would be haunted by the soul of the dead person, but in my case, it was the exact opposite.

I dreamt about myself, once again staring into the fire as it engulfed the life, and as I did, I heard my panicked voice yelling,

“Do something!!! Call the fire brigade, quick!!!Are you really going to watch someone die??? Are you really going to be a part of a murder?”

“Even if he deserves what he gets, what about after that??? You will be regretting this moment for the rest of your life!!!”

Unlike the reality, in my dream, I badly wanted to do something. I wanted to save that criminal for my sake. I wanted to save myself from the torture, the regret that I will be feeling afterwards.

 But no matter what I tried, my feet were stuck to the ground, and I couldn’t move an inch.

I woke up, drenched in sweat.

It was already morning, and the sunshine penetrated through the window, lighting up the simple living room.

Perhaps it was a dream.

Yes…it should be a dream.

There is no way I did that kind of thing.

I tried to convince myself.

At this point, my phone rang once more.

It was Morgan again.

This was the first time since we got to know each other, that I found myself dreading to answer her phone call.

I was waiting, hoping the ringing would stop.

But at the very last moment, I still swiped to answer it.

“You wouldn’t believe this!” she said over the phone.

I tried to remain calm, “Why what is it?”

“Well, it looks like someone has tried to kill him.”

I feigned ignorance, “him?”

“Who else, that rapist.”

“Oh,” I said at first, then after a while, something clicked, “Tried? So he isn’t dead?”

Morgan said, “No. We found his ID on the floor, half burnt, but it is clearly him.”

I was confused, “Wait, he wasn’t there?”

“No. He escaped, or someone helped him escape.”

“C-can you repeat what you just said?” I said as I shot out of the couch, my hands and my voice were trembling so badly, but this time it was because I saw hope rather than fear.

“He escaped. So the he is still out there, we will have to catch him soon.”

“How are you so sure that he escaped?” I asked once more, unable to believe what I was hearing.

Morgan’s voice said in a whisper, “I will tell you once I’m back, but we got enough evidence to prove that he’s still alive.”

A wave of relief washed over me, as if I was released by the iron shackles made of thorns, as if the heavy boulder had been finally taken off my shoulders.

“Oh...is that so?” I said as I slumped back to the couch.

Morgan replied, “Alright, gotta go, they are looking for me, see you tonight then.”

I leant my head back and closed my eyes, enjoying the feeling of relief so much that even my eyes started tearing up.

That day I learnt something.

Betraying yourself, your conscience regardless of what you did, regardless of whether the one in the receiving end deserved it or not, is one of the most unbearable tortures in the world.

And if something you did torments you to this extent, then it is a punishment for no one but to your very own self.

I was someone who was fortunate enough to escape from that torment merely hours after, and that is something I will be grateful for the rest of my life.

Although I know there are those who drive a sense of justice by giving these inhumanely creatures a taste of their own medicine, but I know for sure, I am not brave enough to be one of them.

-End-