The Last Time

He glanced with dismay at the sight before him. It was as if a bomb had exploded, debris scattered everywhere before his eyes. The former town hall reduced to rubble. Grass burned to charcoal black. Even though it was projected from merely a screen, the image was as worse as if he was there. Guilt racked Curtis, knowing full well that this was because of his ignorance.

Curtis had made mistakes. He had been a selfish man. Heck, he still was a selfish man. He knew this. His people knew this. Regardless, they supported him, not because they liked him, but because he would do the right thing. Curtis had worked for his position, and people knew that. They respected that, too. So it was no surprise for anyone when he was elected. He seemed like a powerful man, standing at 6 foot, and had an intimidating figure, with broad shoulders and defined features. Curtis also had a commanding personality and was known to be as curt and brusque as his name suggested. Nevertheless, he had values and followed them.

It had been only recently when he'd been elected as Prince. After years of hard work, sacrifices, and hours spent preparing for this, Curtis had let loose. He'd partied, and lived carefree for the last few weeks, despite the protests from his advisors. One night, after a long day, he had sat down at his desk, clearing up. One of his many advisors had rushed up to Curtis, looking panicked. Curtis struggled to recall his name, Bob was it? No, Alex. Alex opened his mouth to speak but Curtis had dismissed him, with a simple wave of his hand. Alex or Bob scurried away obediently. It was only a few days after he'd been in office, he reasoned, so whatever it could surely wait for the morning. Alex or Bob hadn't mentioned it since, so he had assumed it wasn't a pressing issue.

So now Curtis was forcefully reminded of his duties, a message that was sent to him by a person going by "X". He rubbed his eyes slowly, fatigue mixing with a sinking realisation that this was his responsibility, he had to be the one to fix this. His predecessor had hinted nothing of this disaster, and apparently, it had been ongoing for months. Attacks from the neighbouring town had been relentless, pushing the residents into hiding.

The attacks including kidnappings, bombs, and unexplained explosions. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was the culprit, as the group's many social media postings were accessible to anyone with an account.

Curtis bit at the cuticles of his fingers nervously. He stopped suddenly, an idea forming. His fingers flew over the keyboard, flying frantically. After a few minutes, Curtis studied his screen apprehensively. Then he clicked send.

He was not disappointed. Seconds after, a reply pinged up on his screen. His heart skipped a beat, and Curtis gulped nervously. Before he could change his mind, he clicked it open.

His eyes seemed shocked with his decision, as they took a while to focus on the email. When they did, his brain took a while to process it.

Prince 

I believe we should talk,

10:00 am, you know where. The place where it all started. 

To fix your many wrongs

Be there

X

As Curtis read through it for the fourth time, questions began to form. He had no idea where "X" meant, or even who "X" was. But it couldn't be merely coincidental that they shared the name of the person who sent the original image. And who was to say it wasn't more than one person? Ready to jump him? And what was with the many wrongs? These were all good arguments

As he pondered, a few things came to him. Having been born into a large family, he wasn't close with any of his close relatives and being without a girlfriend or kids, he doubted it was anywhere he had resided. Stumped, he clicked back into the photo and was hit with a realisation.

Dew soaked the black grass. He stood staring at a piece of rubble, reminiscing. The last time he was here in person was when Curtis was elected as Prince. Before Curtis was involved in this mess. Suddenly, Curtis felt a gnawing sense of panic. He waved it off, but still felt growing fear. But by now any sense or illusion of resolve he had faded, and he turned to leave.

A sound like a whip crack and Curtis could taste the burnt grass. His leg was on fire, pain screaming down his leg. Curtis looked down, and black was seeping out. His vision went hazy as he realised it wasn't dirt at all. It was blood. So, so much blood. He let out a strangled scream of pain, only to have dirty hands smothering his yells. Panic choked him, and he stopped yelling, no longer capable of doing so. The hands moved to his throat instead. They squeezed. Curtis could feel his eyes rolling into the back of his head. His brain worked frantically to piece together what he had seen. A familiar face swam above him, contorted in concentration. He fought a strange desire to laugh. The last time he had seen that face it was covered in ill-disguised panic. As his heart stuttered, he made his last coherent thought. 

That was the last time he would ever dismiss someone.

Epilogue

That was indeed the last time Curtis dismissed someone. It was the last time he was. It was months later when someone discovered him. He was reported as missing but soon forgotten. Curtis was replaced by his murderer, his advisor. No one suspected a thing, because Curtis was a cynical man, and hadn't been close with anyone, so hadn't thought to tell anyone his suspicions or whereabouts. The attacks continued and got worse and worse. Eventually, decades later, when his advisor passed away, the attacks stopped. The people of the town connected the dots, and the memorial statue that had been displayed outside his residence was destroyed in the same way he had destroyed their town. 

Their only regret was that he hadn't succumbed to the end he had deserved.