Cruelty and Kindness

What is retribution,

If not a never-ending cycle of revenge?

They say it is a penalty inflicted out of vengeance for a wrong act,

But they also say two wrongs don’t make a right.

So, can revenge ever reach completion,

Or will the whole world turn blind?

Who deserves retribution,

If not everyone for every wrong they’ve ever done?

Is it reserved for the homophobes, the racists, the liars, the cheats?

Or does it extend to the lazy, the manipulative, the privileged, and the foolish?

Does it even target the lucky?

Who determines retribution,

If it no longer exists solely with lawmakers?

If we now encourage others to design and enact their own form of retaliation,

And as a public judge whether it was fair,

Is it still retribution if we then punish the offender we helped create?

What is retribution,

If not cruelty extended,

Stretched out and continued long after the original offence?

And do you really believe petty revenge could hurt that type of crook?

No, the cruellest gift the Good bestow upon the Evil is time.

Time is the enemy of unhappy people.

Revenge is a dish

We’ve come the full circle now with the Harvey-Samantha saga. Most of us understood from the get-go that they shouldn’t even have met, let alone moved in together.

I mean, no one’s perfect. But Harvey is one of those people whose worst imperfection is in the nature of an art form. A performance art form. He hones his art and displays it wherever the opportunity arises.

To give an example, our gang often meet up on a Friday night for a couple of drinks. For Harvey, this is an opportunity for artistic self-promotion. He challenges people to out-drink him whilst remaining standing. He calls for combinations of alcohol to prove his talent for holding his drink. Boring stuff, and excruciatingly embarrassing for Samantha.

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A Martian Revenge Tragedy

Martha relaxed into the pilot’s chair, her term on the punishment planet complete. A message flashed on her HUD, “Thank you for your service.”

She hit the eject button.

Ten years earlier, a signal from Rob, “Thank you for your service” meant “Get out of there”. His warning never came. The bots got her, and her wonder turned to blame.

Why contact her now? It had to be him.

She looked back at the ship, then she got her answer as it exploded into fragments. The shock wave hit: her pod shook but survived, coming to rest two-thirds of the way up Pavonis Mons.

“Suit,” she commanded, “status.”

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