I will not count them: the prayer wheels, the meters, the pilgrims, the steps, the number of times I will feel the smooth patina of wood against my palm. I say to Emma: “I want to do this.” She assents.
“Ummm, yeah. Yeah!” I stammered as what she was suggesting sank in with increasing gravity.
“Yeah! That would be awesome!”
“My original convictions upon this subject have been confirmed by the course of events for several years, and experience is every day adding to their strength. That those tribes can not exist surrounded by our settlements and in continual contact with our citizens is certain. They have neither the intelligence, the industry, the moral habits, nor the desire of improvement which are essential to any favorable change in their condition. Established in the midst of another and a superior race, and without appreciating the causes of their inferiority or seeking to control them, they must necessarily yield to the force of circumstances and ere long disappear.”
~ Andrew Jackson
Continued from Come, it said.
Out of the darkness, I see a glint of steel, coming at me.
The glint of steel becomes a fist, becomes an arm… becomes an army.
An army of steel, allied only with steel. It marches, gleefully, through a sea of terror, slices through, like a scimitar through flesh.
No. A scythe, like a scythe through a field of humanity.