Charles openly wept for the life lost before him. Whoever the remains belonged to, they were unrecognizable now, cut to pieces and charred a light brown. There is no excuse for the lost life, Charles thought as he cried. Whoever the remains had belonged to, they must have had a family, or friends. A life, now lost.
Charles ran his shaky hands through his sweat-slicked curly brown hair as he tried to compose himself. He was surrounded by people, and if they saw the charred remains...
....They wouldn't care at all.
The hateful people all around never did care when one of the lower class were killed, no matter how little they deserved it, at least, what they called the lower class. The un-important ones. But all life was equal to Charles, and he couldn't believe nobody else felt the same. He fell into another fit of crying as the thought came to him.
No one would care if they saw these remains; the butchered, charred remains of a "lower class being."
Charles flinched as a hand tapped his shoulder. Above him, a voice said, "Is everything alright, sir? Is something wrong?"
Charles looked up at the man, eyes wide and blurred with grief. The man stood calmly, with no worry or grief on his face. "I...I didn't..." He struggled to speak past the lump in his throat. He lifted a finger and held back his tears. "I didn't order the steak!"
"Oh, I'm sorry, sir." The waiter bent to pick the plate off the table, and carried the butchered, burnt carcass back to the kitchen.
Many people saw the waiter pass by their tables, some even asked for more food, or refills. Every one of them seeing the horror that lay on the plate.
But no one cared.
