Read Online Saint Homicide (Single Shot) by Jake Hinkson - Free Book Online
Authors: Jake Hinkson
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Woe to you who desire the day of the Lord!
For what good is the day of the Lord to you?
It will be a day of darkness, not of light.
Amos 5: 18
Chapter 1
My fellow inmates find me ridiculous. To a man, each proclaims his innocence, and every one of them eagerly details the series of injustices which led him to his present incarnation. I alone freely admit that I am guilty of my crime, and I alone embrace my supposed punishment. For these transgressions of prison decorum, the other prisoners mock me as a fanatic and have bestowed upon me the nickname Saint Homicide.
Their mockery is of little concern to me because, as Paul wrote, as my sufferings in Christ abound, so my consolation also aboundeth by Christ. Still, as I await His Final Judgment, when the false “justice” of this world will burn away in the light of His Glory, I feel that I must give an accounting of myself. I must set some things straight. This will not be a defense, though. I need no defense. This is a testament to the glory of Christ.
Before I begin, I feel compelled to point out that I will be fully forthcoming in this narrative. As such, the reader should be forewarned that I will be honestly transcribing blasphemies, rough language, and ugly situations exactly as they occurred. Please understand that while recounting this ugliness gives me no joy, my journey to the cross was a dark and twisted one, and I have come to understand that this darkness only makes His glory shine more brightly.
My journey began years ago, on the late October afternoon Henry called me into his office to confront me about the sticker. This was the moment that set my life on its course. Sitting among his papers, he told me, “Daniel, I need you to remove the abortion sticker from your door.”
I’d been on my way to teach, and as I stood in his doorway with my textbook and lesson plans tucked under my arm, I asked, “And why would I consent to do that?”
He leaned forward, his bulk jostling the clutter on his desk and bumping the nameplate that read Henry McSween-Chair-Department of Mathematics . “There have been complaints.”
“From whom? I have a right to face my accusers.”
His face contorted in pain. “Daniel, please . Be reasonable. You can believe whatever you want, but that sticker’s a personal political viewpoint. You can’t go sticking your personal political viewpoints on an office door that belongs to the university.”
I fixed him with a cold stare. “Every kneejerk liberal on this campus has their door plastered with political jargonizing. Every five feet there’s a Clinton/Gore sign. This is a clear infringement of my civil liberties.”
“Daniel,” he said “that sticker of yours is incendiary. You know it is, and that’s why you put it on your door in the first place. You wanted a reaction, and now you have it. So please, as a favor to me, let it end here.”
I’d been adjuncting at the college for a little under three years, and Henry had always treated me fairly. Out of consideration to him—and perhaps out of some vague fear of losing my position—I left and walked back down the hall to my office.
On the door, beneath my name and office hours, was a bumper sticker that read: Abortion Is Murder.
I pulled off the sticker. As it unpeeled, it curled up like a scroll.
I stared at it.
Then, without thinking, I walked back down the hall. I didn’t know what I was going to do until I got there. All I felt was a rising sense of resolution.
I tapped on the door. Henry looked up from his papers.
“I resign,” I said. “Effective immediately. You’ll need to go tell my two o’clock class.”
He rubbed his face. “Daniel, please. You’re not going to leave over this? Mid-semester?”
But I was. Not that I’d planned it, mind you. I hadn’t. But as soon as I said it, I knew it was the right thing.
With the sticker rolled up in my hand, I looked him in the eye as I told him, “I have to do what He’s telling me
For what good is the day of the Lord to you?
It will be a day of darkness, not of light.
Amos 5: 18
Chapter 1
My fellow inmates find me ridiculous. To a man, each proclaims his innocence, and every one of them eagerly details the series of injustices which led him to his present incarnation. I alone freely admit that I am guilty of my crime, and I alone embrace my supposed punishment. For these transgressions of prison decorum, the other prisoners mock me as a fanatic and have bestowed upon me the nickname Saint Homicide.
Their mockery is of little concern to me because, as Paul wrote, as my sufferings in Christ abound, so my consolation also aboundeth by Christ. Still, as I await His Final Judgment, when the false “justice” of this world will burn away in the light of His Glory, I feel that I must give an accounting of myself. I must set some things straight. This will not be a defense, though. I need no defense. This is a testament to the glory of Christ.
Before I begin, I feel compelled to point out that I will be fully forthcoming in this narrative. As such, the reader should be forewarned that I will be honestly transcribing blasphemies, rough language, and ugly situations exactly as they occurred. Please understand that while recounting this ugliness gives me no joy, my journey to the cross was a dark and twisted one, and I have come to understand that this darkness only makes His glory shine more brightly.
My journey began years ago, on the late October afternoon Henry called me into his office to confront me about the sticker. This was the moment that set my life on its course. Sitting among his papers, he told me, “Daniel, I need you to remove the abortion sticker from your door.”
I’d been on my way to teach, and as I stood in his doorway with my textbook and lesson plans tucked under my arm, I asked, “And why would I consent to do that?”
He leaned forward, his bulk jostling the clutter on his desk and bumping the nameplate that read Henry McSween-Chair-Department of Mathematics . “There have been complaints.”
“From whom? I have a right to face my accusers.”
His face contorted in pain. “Daniel, please . Be reasonable. You can believe whatever you want, but that sticker’s a personal political viewpoint. You can’t go sticking your personal political viewpoints on an office door that belongs to the university.”
I fixed him with a cold stare. “Every kneejerk liberal on this campus has their door plastered with political jargonizing. Every five feet there’s a Clinton/Gore sign. This is a clear infringement of my civil liberties.”
“Daniel,” he said “that sticker of yours is incendiary. You know it is, and that’s why you put it on your door in the first place. You wanted a reaction, and now you have it. So please, as a favor to me, let it end here.”
I’d been adjuncting at the college for a little under three years, and Henry had always treated me fairly. Out of consideration to him—and perhaps out of some vague fear of losing my position—I left and walked back down the hall to my office.
On the door, beneath my name and office hours, was a bumper sticker that read: Abortion Is Murder.
I pulled off the sticker. As it unpeeled, it curled up like a scroll.
I stared at it.
Then, without thinking, I walked back down the hall. I didn’t know what I was going to do until I got there. All I felt was a rising sense of resolution.
I tapped on the door. Henry looked up from his papers.
“I resign,” I said. “Effective immediately. You’ll need to go tell my two o’clock class.”
He rubbed his face. “Daniel, please. You’re not going to leave over this? Mid-semester?”
But I was. Not that I’d planned it, mind you. I hadn’t. But as soon as I said it, I knew it was the right thing.
With the sticker rolled up in my hand, I looked him in the eye as I told him, “I have to do what He’s telling me
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