They said it wasn’t so bad, what they were asking me to do.

“Just talk to him,” they said. “It’s just a three-minute conversation. That’s all we’re asking for.” So it would be easy, right? I can talk for three minutes. Any fourteen year old can.

He was walking down the sidewalk, just like they said he would be. With his dog – a terrier.

“Oh!” I cried out, pretending delight, as he got closer. “Oh, what a cute dog! Could I pet her?” I fell into step with him as he continued walking. Any moment, I thought. Any moment, he’s going to realize. I hoped for him to realize, so that it wouldn’t be my fault.

He didn’t.

And while I talked, they went in. They took his daughter. She was only three – she still had the light of innocence in her eyes. They brought the gun to her temple, and they fired.

He had to be taught a lesson, right? After all, he’s the one who kills babies before they’re born. So we had to kill his. Because we love him. We want him to find Jesus.

It’ll be okay. God will forgive him.
And me.