A single kindness

Prologe

      Stanley ran as fast as he could and returned to his single room home on the edge of town, far away from everyone else. As he ran, he watched the grass fly past him, the clouds in the deep purple sky take graceful forms, the sun sink into the ground and the sky turn into a beautiful twilight. When he reached his destination, he saw the usual graffiti covering the past layers that had been put on his beloved home throughout his life. A beauty, he thought; to see all the different shades of greens, blacks, pinks and purples blend together to form one message: he was an outcast. Nothing more, nothing less. Just a waste of space for everyone to use as a verbal, physical, and mental punch bag.
      He looked right and noticed that his lock to the door had been broken. Who knows what was waiting for him behind the door. He whispered a silent prayer, and walked inside. Nothing was out of the ordinary. "Ah, maybe this is a sign for new beginnings." the battered young man then sighed. Stanley knew this was only hopeful thinking.
      He took off his spectacles, made just for him by a group of doctors his mother had dropped stanley off to as an infant. They worked hard to decipher his captivating condition. When the boy was born he seemed completely normal, however, this was only a beautiful lie. The moment he opened his eyes, two nurses and one doctor fell flat onto the tile, no injuries. Just dead. And it continued, every time he made eye contact with someone, they died too. While the doctors did help him, this wasn't out of kindness. The men and women were being paid extensively by the government; so they left him alone at the earliest possible opportunity. This was just before his sixth birthday. By then he knew the basics of the world; you only received kindness if you fit into a certain group of individuals. But, Evidently, such a group was usually hard to get into.
    Stanley shook his head. That was in the past. It will stay there. Stanley sat down in his chair. He stared into space for a while before  he was brought back by a shuffling noise outside. He jumped.
       "This again.." he whispered. Then Stanley yelled,"What do you people want from me? It's not my fault you keep taking off my glasses and looking into my eyes. Just leave me alone!"
        No response. The shuffling continued along with a few whispers. There were at least fifteen of them. This round would not end well for both parties.
      It happened so fast, it was like he sped through time, but in overdrive. First, his door opened, and multiple bales of hay were thrown inside. Followed by the door being slammed shut. Soon, the intruders had Barricaded the door and his only window. Stanley was trapped.
      "What is going on?" he yelled, now frightened. "Open the door!"
       Again, no response. Then everything burst into flames. About eight different lit matches had been thrown inside the house through the holes in his walls and roof. Stanley looked through one of them. He saw his soon to be murderers. And was he wrong. There were not fifteen people. There had to be fifty. They were screaming and hugging each other. Celebrating his death, no less.
       Stanley looked away. I am not dying today, he thought. Stanley turned around. But only to find flames and almost covered the entire room. He picked up his chair which was, luckley, barley burnt. And he ran at the door, chair in hand. As the chair crashed into the door, stanley's arm made a snapping noise. Followed by a pain Beyond any beating he had ever taken.
      Stanley fell to the ground, onto what was left of a blanket covered in flames. He looked at the door, there was barely a scratch. Stanley thought of getting back up. But he just layed there. Everything hurt. He felt the fire creep up his legs, then crawl onto his head. And with a final breath, he stated, "This is not over." then closed his eyes. But not for the last time.