Measure This: The judgement he couldn't escape.

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He was as cruel as the devil himself. No one crossed his path and went scot-free, he made sure that person regrets it. Touch anything that belonged to him, and you were as good as dead. People feared him and avoided him like a plague. He seem to love it, mistaking fear for respect. Villagers cleared out of his path the moment they sighted him from afar.

He oppressed, cheated, and exploited his people. He seized their lands, extorted their money, and tore down homes to build his empire. He flogged the weak in public, starved poor families, and jailed men without cause.
The villagers' only hope for justice was his death. No one offered kind prayers for him, only silent pleas for vengeance. He knew this, but only laughed cause he knew no one could dare him, he felt like a god.

But in life, everything with a beginning has an end. His reign crumbled when something as small as sickness knocked him down. The very villagers he oppressed tried to nurse him back to health. But it was too late. They watched, helpless but relieved, as life left him. Many believed it was nature’s way of paying him back.

Then came that day- the day he stood before Divinity. The Creator laid before him every wicked deed of his: the mothers who wept for her son jailed unjustly, the children he made to become orphans, the land stolen from the poor, the dignity snatched from honest men.
And then the voice asked him:
“Measure these- every tear, every wail in the night, every life ruined under your rule; would I be unjust if I sentenced you to live again, this time as the lowest among those you once tormented? To beg bread from the children you once made orphans? To wander the earth unseen, never able to speak, only able to feel the pain you caused, again and again?”

The tyrant trembled and fell to his knees, pleading for a second chance.
But mercy, like the one he never gave, was not granted.

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