Diana Moon Glampers

It was done and the Theater was silent, all eyes were on the handicap general. The whole world's eyes were on her in that moment. They had seen what she had done. If only that blinking red light on the camera ceased, if only the attendees of the theater saw, it would have been easier to control, but you can't erase the memory of the whole continent.

Her hands shook with the cold metal in her grasp, her finger still on the trigger. She refused to move, afraid if she did, the reality would hit her and it would be over. Her breath caught in her throat, she lowered her gun to it's holster. 'All is how it should be.' she said to herself to calm her vibrating nerves. The resounding click of the gun put in its holster and the camera being shut off. She looked out towards the shocked crowd, their teary eyes either on her or upon the bodies piled needlessly behind her own. She wanted to look back, willing her body to turn to see the pools of blood seeping across the stage and to her expensive black heels, knowing it would stain. But she couldn't move, she couldn't face the failed mission of preserved justice and now the world had seen.

Taking a hesitant step forward, and then another, the sound of heels against wood echoed through the building as she started down the stairs without looking back. The air too cold, too suffocating. Her pace quickened as she passed the rows of handicapped viewers and out the door into the night. She couldn't register why the sky was a glowing orange, why the sky weeped and the Earth shook in anger. The glow got brighter and faded into the sky like coagulated blood mixed with dead stars. The Earth shook with the stomp of one hundred angry men, their steps like a steady drum, indicating war against the wicked. To quick to escape without being seen she backed into the cold concrete wall, the stray rocks digging into her back. She tried to blend into the wall, to get away from the approaching torches and broken handicaps of the strongest. Surrounded within seconds, closing in slowly, the first blood came to her cheek bone as if in slow motion, the force knocking her sideways to the street, the ringing so loud in her ears she heard nothing and felt the pain. Her cry of pain seemed to urge the attackers to continue but they watched her bleed like blood thirsty vultures. Her shaking hand went to touch her cheek, only to feel the dent of broken bone. Tears mixing with the thick blood from her nose and mouth and scrambled to get up only to be knocked down to the filth of the street by a broken handicap, made of nothing but metal. It hit her in the ribs and she could feel each one in turn snap like Kitkats and she screamed. Blood now pouring from her mouth like fountains, onto the nearest men's shoes. Another hit came and she screamed for death because the pain was too unbearable. This is what she deserved. And this is what she got.