Life, or something close to it.

I do not judge men. I also do not believe that god is the only entity entitled to such privileges. I am an atheist. I do not judge men because I believe in the duality  of all men. Someone cannot be entirely good or entirely bad. But it doesn't matter what I think. Me, refusing to judge men has the same value as a beggar claiming that  he doesn't prefer expensive wine; it holds no importance. My opinion is insignificant because I am insignificant.
I work as a peon for a high ranking government official. My life revolves around saluting him every morning, getting him tea and running small errands. That is the  purpose of my life. Some men have immense power, some men serve men with immense power. My master, he is one of those men with immense power. Most things of  significance that happen in this city only happen because he has permitted it. His word is followed, his friendship is sought and his enemies are shunned. He is a  powerful man indeed.
Powerful, ambitious, corrupt.
Day after day people in expensive suits, carrying briefcases, enter his chambers hoping to please him so that he may grant them some favours. They walk out empty  handed, the briefcase and its content offered as a motivation, a small gift to help him make up his mind. Gifts offered and inevitably, gifts accepted. Words of  congratulation still fill the room after they've left. Feigned camaraderie, fake laughter that spews from both the parties still lingers like a disease refusing to give  in. Both parties know that no one there cares for anyone but themselves. He will cease to exist for them the moment he looses his power. He wouldn't even feign concern  if they weren’t rich enough. But the pretence of an environment of trust and faith seems mandatory in such transactions. Unfortunately such things aren't surprising.  The way he is, is accepted as a norm among government appointed officials. Such are the times we live in. The progress of our nation has been brought to a complete  halt so people like him can fill their personal coffers.
But I digress. It is not my intention to elaborate on the degradation of this country. That is for you to discuss, the way you do, with your friends over a bottle of  imported whisky into the late hours of the night.
Discuss and then do nothing about it.
I wish this was all that was wrong with him; a corrupt official indulging in bribery. An acceptable sin. But that is not where the atrocities end. Forget the rich men;  his main prey are young girls. Young girls that are naive enough to believe that some men still exist that would help them, out of the goodness in their heart.
I was shocked the first time it happened. Anita. She was a young troubled girl. Her rich landlord was evicting her family and every other family in her building so he  could sell her home to some rich hotelier. Her life of late had been a struggle against an enemy she couldn’t defeat. Her fight had forced her to her last resort.  Still holding on to the minutest of hope she had come to my master to ask for help. He welcomed her. The eyes of the beast, gleamed with excitement as it asked its  prey to sit and offered something to drink; a glass of water perhaps. The girl refused. He approached the door. Before he closed it shut he looked at me and he smiled.  He smiled. And me, a lowly peon struggling to make ends meet, what could I have done except smile back. And I smiled back.
I was an accomplice.
I smiled back.
I should've looked away when she came out. But I didn’t. Now the look on her face is etched in my memory. Her fight didn’t matter anymore. She had been defeated. Her  hope which he she had so fiercely protected had vanished. Even her life, it seemed, didn’t matter anymore. Her eyes were swollen, drenched in tears of horror. I will  never forget those eyes. Innocence lost at the hands of this monster. And what did I do? Nothing. I did not try and console her. I was ashamed.
That day I decided I would never let anything like that happen again.
But then it happened again and again. And every single time i did nothing. I have lost count now.  Everyone who knows my master knows that he is a monster. Everyone thinks he is horrible person and he is horrible. He is abominable and he is disgusting.
So why does he greet me every workday? It baffles me. Why does he remember me by name? Why does he ask to make myself a cup every time I prepare tea for him? Is that  what monsters do? It would be explainable if he put up appearances for people that have a bearing on his future. But I am not one of those people. I know that and he  knows that and yet he enquires if everything is well with me. Why does he do that? I am insignificant. Being good to me does not benefit him in any way. He should be  treating me with disdain. He should be screaming at me for every mistake I make but instead he jokes about me being too old to get married.
He is a horrible person. The way he treats everyone else is proof of that but what of the way he treats me. When I was on the verge of death from pneumonia, he  questioned my replacement about what had happened to me and then he got me admitted into a hospital and paid for my entire treatment. He saved my life.
To the world, treating an insignificant peon with respect does not absolve him of his crimes. But I am not the world. I am the worthless sub-ordinate that he treats  with respect. I owe him my life. So how do I judge this man? Should I judge him based on how he treats me or on how he treats everyone else? Is he the monster who has  destroyed so many innocent lives or the saviour who saved my life?
I do not judge men. I also do not believe that god is the only entity entitled to such privileges. I am an atheist. I do not judge men because I believe in the duality of men.
So, what I'm about to do is not because I believe he deserves this. In fact, I am perhaps the last person that should be doing this. It is not because I am a beacon of  justice. Indeed what I’m about to do will be looked upon with different eyes that will draw polarising conclusions. But this is not about that. This is about Anita.  No, not even her but her eyes. Those eyes that asked me why I didn't do anything.
Those eyes that have stared at me while I sleep ever since. Those eyes that have haunted my dreams.
Those eyes that look down on me, even now, accusing me and calling me a coward.
Those eyes that know that I smiled back.
Yes, this is for those eyes. Not to seek forgiveness but to seek riddance.
I serve him his tea. He asks me to make myself a cup. Today I accept. I will make myself some tea. The tea tastes good. Not like the cheap excuse for tea i have to  drink everyday but the soothing kind, the kind that makes you appreciate nature and what it has to offer to those with money. I carry the tray and start to take my  leave. Except, I don’t go out. I shut the door and lock it. 
It was surprisingly easy to procure a gun. There were no questions asked. They did not want to know what I wanted to use it for. Perhaps they thought i would have  lied. I would have lied. The difficult part was the money. When there are guns spread in a room where you are the only one that has never used a gun, its best not to  haggle over price. I spent my last paisa on the bullets.
The metal of the gun feels cool as I slide my hands inside my pocket. After all the days of wondering if i could do this, if it was what i should do, if i had the  courage to do it and forcing myself to believe that i could, i cannot look back now.This is happening.
"What are you doing?" He looks surprised. About a split second later his surprise turns to shock; and then the shock turns to fear as he sees the gun shining in my  hand.
"Wait. Why are you doing this? You don’t have to?" He shouts.
But I can’t hear him anymore.  I don’t hear anything. I don't feel anything. All of my senses are numb except I can still see those eyes. Why won't they just leave me  alone? I raise my gun. I pull the trigger. The recoil is stronger than I expected. I only hit his shoulder. He bellows in pain. I get closer. I put the barrel right  against his temple. The sound that escapes is deafening. He moves no more.
Suddenly, there is banging on the door. A gun shot is a hard sound to ignore.  “Stop", the people outside shout, "Don’t do anything stupid."
Don't do anything stupid they say. I've just murdered one of the most powerful men in the city and they tell me now not to do anything stupid. Not the best of advice.
I put the barrel inside my mouth. The metal feels warm now. The taste of gunpowder fills my world. Was what I did right? Was it wrong? Is this the only significant  thing that I have accomplished in my life?
I am more than a peon now. I, Raskolnikov, am a murderer. My intentions are selfish. But will my actions be analysed on my intentions? I don't think so. You will  interpret it in your own way. A murderer who did what he had to do, to bring about a change or a murderer who killed a man in cold blood? Who am I to you? A  revolutionary or a monster? To me, I am just a man who is tired.

I pull the trigger for the last time. I see those eyes no more.