Alternatives
Assuming that John had every right to shoot the intruder, shouldn't he then have tried to save him, being a doctor? Or refrained from eating him despite the Maori warrior's heritage which compelled John to possess his vanquished enemy's animus by ancient ritual of battle? Or shouldn't he have at least attempted to reason with him, being also a psychotherapist experienced in treating intruder compulsion disorders? Or shouldn't John have at least administered extreme unction, being also an ordained priest?Assuming John had every right to shoot the intruder, wasn't there some action he could have then taken, or refrained from taking?
But John simply shot the intruder without hesitating. It was not until the man screamed and fell that John wondered what to do next. He had no remorse about having pulled the trigger; the man was after all an intruder. It made no difference whether the man was armed or not, or what his intentions might have been. John still didn't know those answers and didn't care to know them.
However, John did sense that he must now do something more, or refrain from doing something that he might, and that dilemma sent him into extreme panic--a panic he had rarely experienced before, and one he could not handle.
John felt the panic rise within him like a snake coiled around his heart, squeezing his consciousness into blackness, crushing him, killing him. He gasped and froze, each muscle tightening into rigid catatonia, and toppled to the floor, conscious but utterly paralyzed. He could feel no heartbeat or breathing, yet he knew he was not dead.
No sooner had the silence of the room restored itself than the intruder began to stir, and moaning slowly, attempted to rise.
Though wincing from the torn flesh of his left arm near the shoulder, a testament to the primitive efficiency of John's sharp Maori teeth, the intruder felt a wonderful sedative's hallucinatory comforts. Examining his wound, he marveled at expertly dressed bandages. Nearby he saw that the bullet had been skillfully removed by surgical hands.
Further, the torment of the intruder's troubled soul had been replaced by a miraculous, comforting grace. His compulsions now lay themselves out in crystal clarity, brought forth by a most eloquent unknown therapy. He knew that he had been utterly transformed.
The intruder stood aright and peered through the gloom. A form lay motionless nearby. Its lips were bloodied and its glassy eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, yet it displayed a waxy, beatific smile.
Assuming his host to be dead, the intruder slowly left the room.
But John simply shot the intruder without hesitating. It was not until the man screamed and fell that John wondered what to do next. He had no remorse about having pulled the trigger; the man was after all an intruder. It made no difference whether the man was armed or not, or what his intentions might have been. John still didn't know those answers and didn't care to know them.
However, John did sense that he must now do something more, or refrain from doing something that he might, and that dilemma sent him into extreme panic--a panic he had rarely experienced before, and one he could not handle.
John felt the panic rise within him like a snake coiled around his heart, squeezing his consciousness into blackness, crushing him, killing him. He gasped and froze, each muscle tightening into rigid catatonia, and toppled to the floor, conscious but utterly paralyzed. He could feel no heartbeat or breathing, yet he knew he was not dead.
No sooner had the silence of the room restored itself than the intruder began to stir, and moaning slowly, attempted to rise.
Though wincing from the torn flesh of his left arm near the shoulder, a testament to the primitive efficiency of John's sharp Maori teeth, the intruder felt a wonderful sedative's hallucinatory comforts. Examining his wound, he marveled at expertly dressed bandages. Nearby he saw that the bullet had been skillfully removed by surgical hands.
Further, the torment of the intruder's troubled soul had been replaced by a miraculous, comforting grace. His compulsions now lay themselves out in crystal clarity, brought forth by a most eloquent unknown therapy. He knew that he had been utterly transformed.
The intruder stood aright and peered through the gloom. A form lay motionless nearby. Its lips were bloodied and its glassy eyes were fixed upon the ceiling, yet it displayed a waxy, beatific smile.
Assuming his host to be dead, the intruder slowly left the room.
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