The Solitary Man

A man sat solitary in a church pew; a rudimentary wooden casket lay in front of the sanctuary. Inside the casket, the corpse of a once revered man, now hated by all—save the solitary figure in the pew.

He was with the revered man when he perished, now the only one to know the real story humanity will never hear. Instead, they will forever look upon the deceased as a traitor. The mere mention of his name now permanently met with a spit in the dirt. 

There will be no mourning. There will be no procession. There will be no marker at his grave, lest it be desecrated.

A simple act that took mere seconds had saved humanity for decades. A million dead, billions saved. 

The solitary man rises from his pew and lays a gentle, yet mangled hand on the casket. The dorsal slowly being decorated with drops of saline. He goes to speak but fails to find the words, instead opting to salute the casket with a trembling hand. 

Outside, a mob encircles the church, eager to defile the corpse of a traitor. 

Stained glass windows shatter, doors fly open, and screams are released as bodies flood the aisles.

In an instant, the coffin is whisked away, rotten insults spewed at the solitary man. For they do not know; they can never know. 

In a shattered and devastated church sits a solitary man struggling to shoulder a secret too monumental to handle.