Knight of Yore

The distant rumble of thunder, like a low growl, permeated through a gray sky.
The kind of day I'd like to be home with a good book and a strong cup of coffee.
His eyes were fixed on the three people walking the path toward him. The man in white, flanked on either side by men in brown, had a small smile on his face and a spring in his step. He walked faster than the two men.
How can I do this? Time after time, I stand here and watch these men walk toward me. How much more of this can I take?! How many more men?
I should just quit.... they'll just find someone else. Someone has to do this.
Somebody has to clean this mess up.
I'm doing the right thing! The right thing!
I am doing God's will. I am serving the people of my country … of the world.
He stared at the three men walking toward him, each step they took kicking up the dust from under their feet. Each step they took bringing the man in white closer to him.
What if I’m wrong? Every religion in the world says that I should not be doing what I am? Every single cell in my body says otherwise.
They were now close enough for him to hear the soft sound the made by their feet touching the ground. Two pairs of feet hitting the ground in perfect unison and a third pair at erratic intervals. The man in white moved at a faster pace than the other two, realizing that he was getting ahead of the others, he slowed for them to catch up.
The man in white stopped, just realizing that there were more people in the courtyard. The man in white sneered at one of the men, an expression of pure hatred … of malice … a promise of retribution for wrongs done. Once again, the only sound was the rumble of a distant thunder. Everything just stopped, as though someone had taken a photograph and replaced reality with it.
Come on, I don’t know if I have the balls to do this. Come on … before I lose my nerve!
The three men started walking again, led once more by the man in white. One of the group watching the procession started chanting in a low voice.
The three men came closer.
There’s nothing in his eyes …he seems almost … excited. Why would he be excited about the situation he’s in? Does he believe in himself? Does he believe he’s right?
Am I wrong? Are we wrong? Should he be here at all? Should I be here?
He was trembling now, and not entirely from the cold. He lay a shaking hand on the wooden post next to him. Old and worn, there since time immemorial. He drew his hand back as if burned.
Is this an instrument of evil or good?
The three men had reached the worn granite steps, pitted now, after years of use. The man in white climbed the stairs alone. His slow, almost cautious steps seeming to take forever. The expression on his face, expectant, the look in his eyes, calm. His lips curled in a smile that became wider as he climbed.
Every action has its consequences. You are here because of yours. What about the consequences of my actions?
He touched the photograph in his pocket. Imagined his daughter playing in the garden.
No! I'm doing the right thing. No god would judge me in the wrong for doing this.
The last step. The man in white walked around the post and stood facing the way he had come. Stood ready, stood waiting.
“Do you have anything to say?” he asked.
The man in white looked at him and simply laughed.
How could you?! Those poor children! You bastard! You Monster!
He turned and fastened the noose around the neck of the man in white.
You raped and killed three little girls! How could you?!
He grabbed the lever hard. Hard enough to force a splinter of wood into his palm. He barely even felt the pain.
I don’t kill people … I slay monsters!
The sharp crack of a neck breaking.