Sacrificial Lambs

'And Samson said, 'Let me die with the Philistines!' And he bowed himself with all his might; and the house fell upon the lords, and upon all the people that were therein. So the dead which he slew at his death were more than they which he slew in his life. (Judges16:30)'�

Andrew slowly, thoughtfully closed his heavy, dog-eared Bible and set it down next to his lamp. Sighing heavily he threw himself spread-eagle back into his soft, white sheets and stared intently at the ceiling above. Breathing lightly, he lay there as the sunlight broke through the folds of his curtain. Having quiet recollections of a better time, he began preparing himself mentally for what he was to do. Today was the day, the day of reckoning; the day that Andrew Miller became more than another face in the crowd, another statistic in America's troubled youth polls, today was how he would be known to the world.
He was surprisingly alert, and cheerful; he acted and responded without thought or impulse. He slowly stood up and walked across his room, feeling the plush carpet between his toes, and the cold shock of suddenly walking on tile. As he brushed his teeth, he glared intently at the image in the mirror. He could see the wrinkles in the face, the result from stress and depression. There were heavy, dark bags under his eyes and evidence of five o'clock shadow. Wanting to be clean-shaven and presentable, he washed his face and shaved. He donned a pair of slacks and a t-shirt while he made breakfast. Thoroughly enjoying his meal, he poured himself a glass of merlot as he slowly chewed his toast. After finishing his meal, he combed and parted his hair to the side as he winced at the multiple nicks and cuts on his face. Steeling himself, he looked at the mirror for the last time.
It was Saturday, the twelfth of January and he didn't have his classes today. Still unnervingly calm, even for himself, he picked up his backpack. It was 10:46:08 AM.
As he walked down the sidewalk, surrounded by hundreds of teens the same age as him, he saw no details on the faces of anyone. No one stood out, no one was unique, it was a flood of a featureless mass. And, he was one of them, he knew that there was nothing unique about him; he was the stereotypical teenager, the apparent cause for all of the world's troubles, he represented the youth and the corruption. He wasn't an individual, and the more that he experienced the more he realized that he wasn't different. He bore no hatred to anyone; this was greater than hate or jealousy this was going to be a statement, a plea for a change. His sacrifice was going to bring resurrection, his pain would bring joy; his death was to bring a new life. He was doing the right thing, he was sure of himself; there was no doubt in this crusade. People were animals, chained to structure, with an organized life planned ahead of them. They were no more intelligent than beasts they trampled upon; they needed an awakening. He was going to be their Messiah.
Choosing to walk over taking the bus he tried to live every second to the fullest. He started to slowly breathe and take in the world slowly, one detail at a time. He saw things he had never noticed, heard sounds like nothing he had ever heard, smelled scents so unique that he had never experienced before; he was on a spiritual high. The harmony of nature and animals in the parks, the smell of food wafting to him, sounds of music playing in the distance, it was all beautiful. He also saw the depravity of humanity, the filth, the impoverished, the perverted, and the weak. He saw the blood encasing the city, the sewage engulfing the streets, the corruption running deep. As he walked through a great city, teeming with thousands, his resolve grew stronger. The more he saw the more disgusted he became. He became what the cruel world had created, a soulless being with the means but without the purpose.
Andrew walked into the Sears Tower, and straight into a young woman obviously in a hurry. As he got up, he tried to help her with the whirlwind of paperwork slowly making their way down to the ground. She had a kind face, and kept apologizing for running into him. When he picked up all the papers for her, she thanked him, smiled and walked out of his life forever. The whole event was a blur, but her smile; it was so sincere, happy, and full of innocence. He stood there for minutes just realizing that he maybe have been wrong. People were happy the way they were, they needed no change. As he silently stood in the center of the lobby, sounds from the television slowly made it to his ear. Andrew looked up to see CNN announcing its daily tragedies, the violence and terror all emanating from the atrocity and decadence of society. He started walking towards the elevator.
Unsurprisingly, the elevator was packed full of people and he managed to fit in. He then pressed the button to the 110 floor. Andrew glanced at his watch. It read 11:29:09. On the way up, the crowd slowly dissipated, and he could finally breathe. Thoughts were running through his head, wild and crazed ideas. He was the total opposite of what he had been in the morning; he couldn't believe that he was going to do it. (95 floors'�)He was ready to turn back, just walk down the stairs and forget about the whole incident. (97.'�)That would mean giving in, giving in to everything he was against, giving in to society, giving into the growing pestilence that is America, he would throw away his life one way or another this day. (105...) He hoped that the girl with the naive smile had left the building. She was happy even in this hopeless world that was respectable in and of itself. 108...He was the last one in the elevator; he picked up his backpack and hugged it, squeezing it more and more. His face fell, as he realized that her smile had destroyed everything that he believed. It was the beacon in this madness, the angel of the chaos, the shelter from the storm. The contradiction in this was overwhelming, and for the first time in years, Andrew didn't know what to do.
Floor 110
Painfully, almost unwillingly, he walked out of the elevator. He carefully left the backpack in the elevator, and sent it down to the ground floor. It gave him enough time for what he was going to do. He wanted to see it all; he wanted to experience the purification of his deliverance. Andrew methodically made his way to the edge, and rested his elbows on the concrete barrier. From there he could see the whole city; he could see the city in all of its majesty. He could smell the pain, see the grief, and bask in the suffering. It was 11:59:13 AM.

As he looked out over the city, he knew that it was time. He stood on the concrete barrier, and spread his arms. After a moments pause, he leaped.
He leaped for his beliefs, his ideals, his defiance towards the world, and back into his anonymity. He died for a cause, but it will never be known; this final act of apparent courage will be forgotten as people glance at his name in the obituary. He became nothing.
The bomb never went off. He knew from the moment that he accidentally walked into that girl, he couldn't risk the chance of murdering the blissful, ignorant fools. They were not his lambs to sacrifice; they were the last chance for redemption. They would bring the glimmer of joy to the world, while he would die in his pain.
Andrew Miller died that day as an angry radical but was resurrected as an enlightened being; there was no chance that his violence would disrupt the violent flow of society. He became an unknown martyr, for an unknown cause.

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