Doctor Mimir

Pages upon Pages, Plagues upon People.

A melacholy candle flickered, unavailigly, each dance could be its last. Every minute counting down to when the wick would finally lose its flair. But it persisted, with unending dedication to staying alight, to serve its only purpose, so meaningful. For such a short period of time.

For what reason was it still perservering? Why was it still burning despite the wick collapsing the melted wax-like a valiant and honourable soldier on the battle field- its body had reduced to nothing more then liquid in a plate. All value it had before would cease to be preserved once it stopped burning. Once the essential light it provided died along with its determination.

Thrown away, the cycle would start again. Another candle, the same sad story, repeating over and over again. like the never ending waltz of death. 

Mimir found himself in the same situation as that candle, slaving away until his dying breath. For the good of the people, was something he had been subjected to hearing a ceasless amount of times over the course of his tortuous career. The once empowering words that gave him determination and vigor to carry on his tedious work, were now being used to chain him to his duties as a doctor. Five years had passed. Five years of being tied down by the manacles of good and supressed by those who were meant to give him closure.

Is my treatment working? How are the people? Is the illness begining to lift? 

these hopeful questiones would soon turn to the single question...

How many fatalities today?

Nothing but guilty and detestible faces looked back at Mimir. He was never praised for the work he did, never recognised for the effort put in, the endless array of sleepless nights endured and emotional torment he subjected himself to. "For the good of the people" kept replaying over and over in his head, repeated reenactments of unending distress and agony as the people he loved and cared for, waltzing, unprepared into the jaws of death. 

What good was his work if all the people had perished?

A sick and horrible thought took centre stage in Mimirs mind...

"why don't i just speed this process up..." he muttered to himself as he grabbed the vial of chemicals on his desk.