Mr.Match

He sat with an aura that demanded respect, his demeanor was relaxed yet focused, steely eyes that glazed deep inside you. Left hand overlapping his right with his index finger on the bottom hand tapping constantly as if working to a constant beat. He dressed in all denim except for his brown boots, his grey hair was long and tied back reaching down to his shoulder blade and he had a beard of similar colour and length that resembled Saint Nicholas himself. Every evening when daylight was diminishing  he would sit here on the park bench with a leather strapped bag, no matter what the weather was he would sit here and reflect. Reflect on what he had done or what he was going to do as he lit a match and watched it slowly burn out.

Around the park he was known to the locals as some sort of a local character, a guy people all talked about; calling him crazy but never to his face as they were wary of interacting with him. Mr. Match was the name he was flippantly given by the kids of the park which then caught on by the adults. Rumors began circulating about who this guy actually was and why he was this way, with some saying he just gave up on life after losing everything and everyone and others saying he was just a down and out, a no good waste that never wanted to work in his life, neither of these were true of course.

He never made eye contact with anyone unless you stared at him for longer than was socially acceptable. He had some cracked corn in his jacket pocket that he fed to the excitable sord of mallards that gathered at his feet and he made sure each one got their share of corn, none to be left out or given preferential treatment. He would never show any emotion, he seemed unfazed by the world around him, except when he seen people out power walking in their "Walking Clothes", this amused him as he would have a quiet chuckle to himself.

The bench was big enough for two people but no one ever sat next to him. Everyone wondered what was in the bag, it was the curiosity of the parks people. Every evening for twenty two years his routine never changed, until recently where he had not been seen for a week. The locals talked about him in passing and the authorities were aware of his sudden no show. Another week passe and still no sign of him, calls were made to his house over the phone and eventually in person by the police but what they found shocked them completely.

Mr. Match was found hanging from the rafter in his sitting room. Beside him was the bag that everyone wondered about, the police decided to open it and take a look in. What was inside was limbs of people, fingers, toes, ears, noses, eyes, the whole lot and attached to each body part was a note with a name on it, the name of the person who the parts used to belong too. The police identified each person as a degenerate, all of them involved in some sort of scumbag behaviour whether it was wife-beating, drug dealing that lead to peoples lives being ruined or underage sex with a minor. These were just some of the disgusting habits of the people Mr.Match killed.

Public opinion was divided about the man, some saying he was a murderer and who knows who else he killed. Others say he was the sort of vigilante that was needed, getting rid of the scum of the earth. Whatever your opinion on Mr.Match, he died by suicide, taking his own life because he didn't wanna be part of a world that had these sort of sick people in it. Hanging from his sitting room roof with a row of burned out matches on the table beneath his feet he left this world the way he lived it, alone and on his own time.