Lync Short Story April 2019: The Imabalanced Scale

So I wrote this lync story in April and I've since composed a new one for May!  I'm going to let my April story hang out a bit longer before I post the May story (plus I still need to tweak it, it's still just in first draft form and might actually be too long as there is a character limit for the Lync status).

Anywho here are the drafts and final output for "The Imbalanced Scale" -

Lync Stories: Drabble length (<100 words) stories told in a Lync messenger status.

1^st –  They were to burn the man tonight. An angry mob gathered outside his prison’s wall chanting the last sounds he’d ever hear.  The blazing fire pit just behind them. ‘A crime for a crime,’ the Sage whispered before departing a final blessing. The sound of the metal as it shut into place, the man closed his eyes: it all seemed so finite. All there was left was to wait. The man thought nothing of his crimes; the family he’d not saved in the fire or the drink that coated his throat that night. He didn’t wonder his innocence. He did not yell for fairness. He did not mourn the life left to live. His contentment came in the chant.  “Free him,” they yelled.  “Free him.” A single tear slipped free.

2^nd –  The man was set to burn tonight. An angry mob gathered outside his prison’s wall chanting the last sounds he’d ever hear.  The blazing fire pit just behind them. ‘A crime for a crime,’ the Sage whispered before departing a final blessing. The sound of the metal as it shut into place, the man closed his eyes: it all seemed so finite. All there was left was to wait. The man thought nothing of his crimes; the family he’d not saved in the fire or the drink that coated his throat that night. He didn’t wonder his innocence. He did not yell for fairness. He did not mourn the life left to live. His contentment came in the chant.  “Free him,” they yelled. One tear. A tear for a cry.

FINAL –  The man was set to burn. Outside his cell an angry mob chanted the last sounds he’d hear. The fire behind them. ‘A crime for a crime,’ the Sage had whispered. The sound of the metal as it shut, the man’s eyes closed: it was all finite. He waited; thought nothing of his crimes- the family he’d not saved in the fire or the drink that coated his throat. He didn’t wonder his innocence, yell for fairness, or mourn the life left to live. He shed a tear for the chant. “Free him,” they yelled. A cry for a cry.