<P><B>Catharsis
<P>By Tristan "Trapper" Metcalfe
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<P>Concern for wisdom had melted away as Justin strode down the damp and refuse cluttered alley. Concern for the future had withered away long before he found himself hunched into his jacket, hand massaging the metallic warmth of the silenced pistol, hidden from prying eyes within its pocket. Concern for consequences had never been factored in. Concern for morality had already been eliminated. By them. Concern for love, for the stuff of humanity was inconceivable to a shattered soul. Concern for revenge remained, embracing a spectral concern for justice. Concern for expression drove his legs to carry him onwards to the couple's run-down apartment; the fifth room on the third floor of a patchwork building that leaned on two sides against similar buildings that protruded from the slums scattered in the shadow of the spaceport.
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<P>The air was heavy from the previous hour's rain, a testimony secondary to the pools of water formed in the irregularities of the alleyway's tarmac; otherwise unnoticeable indentations where moss green water and browning litter now mingled. Eyes deadened beyond conveying thought or feeling, Justin kept his head down as he hurried past the mouth of an adjoining alleyway. A gang of prostitutes cackled and shouted in strained tones within. Somewhere within the miasma of artificial fragrances that wafted from them, Justin recognised the scent that she had favoured. He felt his knees loosen as his mind somersaulted lazily backwards. He slipped, caught himself. Kept walking.
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<P>He thought of the urgency and joyousness he had felt as he had hurried out of the take-away that distant evening. Bundles of paper-wrapped food in his arms, he had so deeply feared missing midnight. The start of their year. So deeply thankful he had her to share so many moments with. And as he fretfully watched the minutes fall past on his watch, her lips had met with those of his friend. His hands had roamed where Justin's had some mere minutes before, and would roam again, in blissful ignorance, some minutes later. And that had not been the first, or most intimate of their encounters. In the alleyway, Justin quietly ignored the urge to wretch. In his memory, he ran up the pathway of the little suburban house and rang the doorbell with an eager grin.