Prompt for August 28, 2016

Complete the short story/flash fiction, that has the following opening:

He coughed into the tissue covering his mouth and nose. He knew what he would find if he looked – a pink tinged fluid with perhaps a dot or two of read – so he didn’t look. He just rolled up the tissue and threw it in the waste bin nearby. He had no other signs, no other indications that he was a walking petri dish giving birth to billions of virus so that they could escape through his coughing.

He was dying.

He knew he was dying. In fact, he created the virus that was going to cause his death. But not just his death, the death of millions or billions of humans. He thought about that for a moment, wondering if he should continue, but the memory of his family dying in a “friendly fire” accident galvanized his soul. The world needed to be purged and he would do the purging. He would not only be the world’s executioner, he would also be the crucible for its rebirth. Not every one would die, but those that survived would be changed. Changed in ways so wondrous that even he had no concept of the change.

He coughed again, but this time there was no tissue handy. He pulled his hand away from his mouth, the palm covered by freckles of blood, and watched as another drop of blood dripped from his noise. The screaming started from just to his right, a young lady, her hands to her own mouth was wailing as she saw the blood dripping from his nose. Then another scream and another. He looked around, trying to find a way out, but the circle of humanity blocked his exit.
So he stood, proud and tall, his hands reaching for the ceiling, the blood leaving a trail from his nose to his chin where it dripped on to his suit or the floor. He wobbled slightly, his sense of balance leaving him for a moment, when he heard the sounds of authority.

“Put your hands up,” cried the voice, oblivious to the fact that his hands were already raised in supplication to a god he didn’t believe in.

He looked at the voice, the boy, that stood before him. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-two and, unbeknownst to him, he had the fate of the world in his hands. Shoot and the virus would be dispersed. Remain calm and the virus might be contained. He looked into the eyes of the boy and understood what was going to happen.

“Say your prayers,” he whispered as he stepped towards the boy. A shot rang out.

He smiled.

Post a link to the story in the comments.

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