Another day of the same. I awake to the same stinging pain in my eyes. It clears quickly, as usual. But the memory persists. That stinging feeling every morning for the past twenty years. And to think it's all one man's fault? For choosing the "humane" option? The world is going black. Every morning as we wake up, we are subjected to the same speck. And we are all slowly being driven to the brink. At first, it seemed meaningless. We'll get over it, we said. Some of us did. Some of tried. Some of us didn't get over it. The ones who got over it... are no longer here.
The speck haunts us to this very day. Who is the man responsible for this? Why could he not bring himself to allow the torture of one man? Why could he not see that by ruining one man, he would save so many others from the slow, creeping insanity we are all feeling. His "kindness" has come to naught. People die daily on the streets, victims to their own creeping mortality driven insane by the daily pain. Some are lucky, and simply collapse and enter the next world. Some are not, and they are found self-mutilated and hanging from their own ceilings.
He will pay in the same way we have paid.
He will experience all of our pain at once in the same way his victim would have paid, had he chosen the right path.
He will suffer as we have suffered.
The specks will exact their toll on this foolish man.
As blood of the innocent lines our faces and our own bloodlust lines our hearts, we assemble in the heart of the city. Today we take our final victim! The one man who started it all! The fury of a googolplex souls burns brightly in the eyes of the few who are left. We gather our torches, gather our blades, our guns, and every horrible device we own. We make the slow trip to the home of the man who has caused this. Marching up the incline, we breathe as one, our thoughts connected, streaming into the sole aim of the slow death of this terror. There it is, someone shouts! A thousand minds boil over at once as we storm the building. We break down doors, we bash through walls, we leave no stone unturned. We find nothing. Until one man finds the hidden door. A collective wail rises from our crowd. We have finally found the man we seek. As we bash down his last line of defense, he backs into a corner. A once proud man, now fallen. Years of worry and horror line his face. He almost looks forgiveable.
We cannot forgive him for this crime.
Our wrath explodes, and in moments we are all around him, jabbing him with knives, burning his skin, pouring sand in his eyes. We do not kill him. His home is now his prison. He will be subject to the pain we all felt for the rest of his pathetic existence. His residence will go down in history for the crime he committed and how his crime came full circle.
Some of us are left inside to continue his torture, but the rest of us exit the house. A wild cheer rises from the crowd, like a gathering of slaves who are freed all at once. We do not know if the pain we felt will continue or not. We do know, though, that our broiling hearts are at ease at last. We depart to our homes, knowing that HIS price has been paid.