I awoke every day and trembled at the news. More aptly, at the stories- there wasn't any news. It was the steady rise of anarchy, a new breed of jackal consuming the world. And when the prey would fight back, its aggressors howled in contempt and charged anew, now with no other thought in their minds but blood. Blood and sovereignty. For which is more valuable to the oppressor: sacrificing power in the name of goodness, or sacrificing goodness in the name of power?
They kept certain people from getting married. When that privilege of prohibition was revoked, a few of them refused to issue licenses.
They took it upon themselves to enforce the law and then shot young men because their skin wasn't the right color.
They appeared on television and admonished the left, the poor, the disadvantaged, the dark-skinned, the ones who had returned from wars, and anyone else who simply wanted to live a decent life outside of their norms.
I was thousands of miles away. Yet standing upon a windy bluff, I could see the flashes of light from back home; and it was a house on fire.
