"I swear, you two are very lucky I'm not the King of Solomon!" The judge had heard enough arguments from the wizened crone and goat-horned red imp in front of him.

Despite being the main agitator, the little imp didn't take kindly to the comment. He jerked his left goat horn with his right hand and hurled it towards his right. The ivory horn boomeranged with the schwiiing of a saw around the courtroom before embedding into the judge's right eye with such force that it punctured outside of the skull and back again through the front, remaining impaled in the man's temple.

The old woman threw her hands in the air before placing them on her hips, whipping her head accusingly towards Impy. "Now look what you've done!"

"You heard the man!" The little imp's voice ended on a high note each phrase, extremely defensive. "You heard what he said, we should have taken his tongue out first."

"You dolt! They'll have to reschedule us now!" The witch, Helen, was already packing up her wooden briefcase, filled with various potions, ingredients, and her court paperwork.

Impy's shoulders rounded as his face fell. "Oh, yeah." They had already waited a month. Suddenly Impy's face got even redder. He looked at the floor in shame, for the moment forgetting his hatred for Helen. Why hadn't he thought harder at the moment and not killed the man?

It's hard, to think of things like that. It is just an instinct, an instant thing to hurl a horn at a man who insults your character. As simple as breathing, or kicking a stray cat, or checking each car door to see if they're unlocked. Just one of the things you don't really think about, you know?

Helen did not know. Her face looked grosser the longer Impy talked. Eventually, he lulled into silence.

"Uh.. yeah. Right." Helen rolled her eyes, making a weird face. Impy was confused what she was thinking. "Look, whatever. I'll see you in a few more weeks, I'm sure. Just don't kill the next one." Helen turned before Impy replied, her hips swinging as her heels clacked.

Impy spent a few minutes processing the event, trying to work through it in his head.

How could he prevent this in the future?

How could he be sure he remembered? Maybe writing a note?

Fundamentally there was no way to know he would remember. Maybe he should just repeat it in his brain a million times. No one will believe the excuse a second time that he just didn't think. Did they all believe him the first time?

Impy stopped packing his briefcase, his heart rate escalating. He imagined everyone he had ever known, accusing him. Calling him a liar and a cheat, a fake and a hypocrite, a bastard and a phony. After all who just doesn't think about something so serious as killing a person?

He scribbled a note in his notepad app, then he didn't open the note for the next four months before deleting it without a second glance during a phone spring cleaning.