The screams,

They plagued my dreams.

Still do.

Yet my decision I do not rue;

All the factors and cues,

Lead to one reasonable decision.

It was taken with expert precision,

In order to fulfil my mission,

What duty obligates.

In the end, such was the call of the Fates,

I survive the burden of many hates,

Life goes on.

And thus I wake up in the morn,

Stolen story; please report.

Lonely and forlorn,

Yet I remained in resolution.

Saving the rest was due consolation,

I must ensure Plague's isolation,

Had to protect the people!

Especially the weak and feeble,

The infirm and incapable;

I had to play my part.

Such were my thoughts on the cart,

Until we were rudely interrupted by a poison dart,

I loved the journey - truly.

Emphasizing the fun - when it got unruly,

(For the oblivious one, believing me insane, fully,

This is self-evidently sarcasm.)

The dart gave the farmer quite the spasm,

Responsible for it were tribals of the museum,

(Which was where they belonged; or perhaps a zoo).

But they had no clue

Concerning who

Was hiding in the cart for them.

It was hard to blame

Though, for most it would be the same;

T'is the fortunate who see the Reaper coming.

So as the wretches were dreaming

Of food and gold, I was waiting,

With Word unsheathed and knife in off-hand.