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The storm had passed. With its passing homes and businesses, roads and fields, so much had been swept away. A few people remained, their possessions gone, but clinging to hope that they would one day rebuild...
"It is called the free market," said the merchant
flush with goods to the crowd of hungry people.
"You pay me my price, or you don't get any product."
"We are desperate," said the man at the front of
the crowd. "It is a time of crisis
and you want to exploit our desperation."
"I am not a charity," said the Merchant. "And I don't see anyone else around here
who has anything to sell. So, pay me
what I want or fuck off."
The desperate man at the front of the crowd hit the merchant
hard across the face.
"What?!" screamed the merchant, his teeth red with
blood. "What gives you the right to
hit me?"
A stone thrown from the crowd of hungry people thumped into
the merchants shoulder.
"Ah!" screamed the merchant in pain. "You are all animals!"
Another strike from a third person. Then a kick.
They were not individuals anymore.
They were a mob.
"Stop!" screamed the merchant between cries of
pain. "Please!"
The merchant was on the ground now, being stomped on as the
crowd surrounded his goods and started handing them out among themselves. Before long all that was left was an empty
cart with the merchant curled up under it to keep out of the drizzle.
The now desperate man flinched when he heard the sound of
footsteps but felt relief when he looked out and saw a man wearing a Caduceus
carrying a bag of medicine and bandages.
"Please help me," said the desperate man.
"I would love to," said the healer. "Tell me, how much is my help worth to
you?"
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This story was inspired by this sociopathic article by John Stossel, a journalist I used to like and respect. Now, I just think he is an unsympathetic dick.
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