The room was filled with a nostalgic fog. It was as if the people present weren’t actually sure if it was real. Their sight was hindered by a rush of memory that wasn’t consistent with what they witnessed. Things have changed substantially, for some it was good change. Most everyone in attendance had advanced and achieved great things. You could almost smell the success in the room, and you could certainly hear it. The pride was deafening, bragging and boasting of the fortunate silenced any attempt at normal conversation. One man stood isolated, in the corner, propped up by a push broom. The atmosphere for him was similar, it was repetitive, he had been there before. It was different this time though, he knew them all. As he waited for the room to clear and prepped his tools for work, he saw her. A fond memory of kindness pierced the vengeful haze that clouded his direction. Understood by no one else but her, he thought. He began to question himself as he walked into the hallway. Could he complete his task and go home to sleep knowing that she was involved in the misery? Did the past matter enough to halt his meticulous planning? A familiar sound echoed in the distance. Her laugh. The moment his ears were reminded of that sound, he knew. With a fresh grin across his lips and the confidence of his decision he pulled the crimson lever and made his way out of the building. As the rain cascaded from the ceiling he couldn’t help but to think.
Would he have initiated the sequence of anthrax and napalm if he hadn’t seen Ophelia?