The dry dessert winds blew hot sand against the house.  His house.  It was his house because he had built it, he had toiled the years it took to make this house a home.  But that was the past now.  His life would never been the same again.  He held the lifeless body of his youngest son, Joshua, in his arms.  Tears streamed down his face, turning dust that covered his features to mud.  The man that had taken the child’s life stood thirty paces from him.
"I told you, Jonathan, that I would return for you."
"..."  Jonathan was silent.  There was nothing to say.  That man had murdered his wife and children.  There were no words, just pain.
"You should keep control of you children.  Bad things can happen."
Jonathan remained quiet.  He turn, the wind blowing against him.  The steps he took towards his porch were as if lead was covering his feet.  Every step caused him unholy agony.  He set his son on the bench swing.  It swayed lightly in the dessert breeze.  His eyes glanced to the window where he saw his other son and his wife, dead in the other room.  He kept his head bowed to the ground as he left the porch.  Finally raising his head, he bore a smile.  Not a smile of joy, but the smile of the insane when they learn how to unfasten their straight jacket.
"Ha ha," the man laughed nervously.  "Jon, w-what are you smiling a-about?"
Jonathan was quick on the draw.  The bullets flew from his revolver with precision.  The first to the gun in the mans left hand.  Then to the other gun, the one that had slain his family.  The man dropped them both in shock and shook his hands in pain.  He would have cried out, but the sounds got caught in his throat.   Jonathan’s gun had been raised to his head.
"H-Hey, no need to do anything d-drastic"  The man's body was rigid, frozen in fear.
"Get on your knees, David."  Jon's voice was calm and even, and his eyes never moved from David's head.
"On my..."  He didn't finish his sentence.  Jonathan didn't give him a chance.  Two more clicks of the trigger and Davidhad lost both of his knee caps.  He collapsed to the ground, in too much pain to shout.  Jonathan walked over to him.
"D-don't k-kill m-me.  I b-beg you."  Jonathan put his foot onto David’s chest and pushed him onto his back.  Then he moved it over to David’s left wrist.  Putting the barrel of the gun less than a hairs width away from David's index finger he pulled the trigger.  Then, to the right.  Another bullet ripped through David’s hand.
David screamed in pain.  Tears poured from his eyes.  "Oh, God, don't kill me.  I don't want to die.  I'm sorry."  Jonathan threw his revolver to the ground.  It was empty now.  He stepped over to David’s head and put his foot on his neck.  He could feel David's weak attempts to breathe.  It felt good.  It made Jon feel alive.  He enjoyed this.  Maybe too much.
Jonathan whispered something.  David couldn't hear it.  "What?" he wheezed.
"Are you sorry?"  Jonathan spoke up.  His voices was still even.
David nodded.
"Are you sorry?"
David nodded again.
"Are you sorry?  Sorry that you killed my family?  Sorry that you destroyed my life?  Sorry that you'll never walk again?  Sorry that you can never use a gun again?  Sorry that I am in control?"  Jonathan's voice became louder with each question.
"Yes, I'm sorry.  Please, don't kill me."  David begged for his life, but it didn't change the look on Jonathan's face.
"Are you sorry?  Are you sorry?  ARE YOU SORRY!?"  Jonathan paused and raised his boot off of David’s neck, but before he could breathe again he slammed it back down on his face.  The heel of his boot met the ground.