Happy or Human?

Happy or Human?

Rain fell from above as if in slow motion tapping lightly on the umbrellas of the gathered crowd. Before the people stood three wooden boxes, engraved with beautiful patterns and crafted from the finest walnut; they had cost a small fortune to make but the price was justified, a necessity, the greatest form of sorrow they were allowed.



Empty smiles held back true emotion as the crowd looked towards a man, a priest, he stood before the boxes with an empty expression. He said a prayer and the coffins were lowered into the earth. Kind words were spoken and fond memories told, and through it all not a single tear fell. The crowd thinned until there were but two remaining next to the graves. One woman stood in silence simply looking upon the caskets, hoping, longing for it to be a dream, praying to see her family walk out from behind a tree, tell her it was all fine. A man walked up to her side, setting a hand on her shoulder and speaking softly to her, trying to understand her pain. She joined hands with her friend, both looking away from each other. Their fingers moved across each other's hands, tracing letters and shapes, communicating by touch alone. It was the only way that was truly private, unseen and unknown by those that watched behind the eyes of men. All the poor woman’s hurt and pain was spilled out in this way, a safe haven from the harsh joy forced upon the world.

Her friend was overwhelmed by the emotion and power of the woman's message. And when he left the message stayed with him. The man wandered aimlessly, stumbling in the despair and melancholy that was described to him. His walk led him to an alley, where the full depth of what had been shared came upon him in a wave, forcing him to his knees. He looked back on his life, all the times he had to keep someone up, helped them live past their pain. Every time the weight upon his shoulders seemingly multiplied, it was too much for one man.

He cried.

Far above him a tiny *plink* was silenced by the vacuum of space, the unheard sound would end his pain. A tiny rod, but the size of a pen fell from a small platform in low earth orbit; the rod fell, speeding up, falling faster and faster towards its target. It entered the atmosphere as a small lance of plasma, on the path of death. It ripped through the clouds, a tiny light streaking towards the ground. The man cast his wetted eyes skyward, sadly observing the growing point. A deep thump sounded from the ally followed by a mist of red and a cloud of dust. The people strolling on the sidewalk outside just kept walking, the cars on the road kept running, the officer at the street corner gave only a passing glance. Life went on, on without sadness and pain. After all, it was better this way.

Right?