One thing that helped was that I was a quiet drunk, I never caused any problems. I would drink until the images would fade then sleep until they came ...ack. I was now drinking the cheapest rye I could find. I would do anything for a pint: shovel snow, mow grass, fix a car that wouldn’t start, clean out manure in the barns. I had worked out a small network of bartenders that put up with me. I’d sleep behind the bar, maybe do some cleaning up, and then maybe get a pint when he opened up the next. Instead, the most prevalent emotion I was feeling was acceptance. Acceptance about what I had done. And that the victim had deserved it!After all, the system had said I was an Avenger. I only got my due revenge. My due justice. There was a hollow voice behind my head that suggested that I was only believing what the system had said because it served my purpose and cleared my conscience, giving me some semblance of innocence. I pushed that thought to the depths of my mind, never wanting to hear. More

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