Eight-year old Tony couldn’t wait to go outside and play with his favorite present, a BB gun. Mom and Dad gave him a quick lecture about gun safety. After getting dressed he grabbed the cardboard target and BB gun on his way out to the backyard.
He set the target up on a tree and had fun shooting at it for an hour before his eyes wandered around looking for other targets.
A bird. Without thinking he shot it; dropped the gun, and ran over to it. Hot tears ran down his eyes as he buried the sparrow.
Didymus stoically watched the soldiers run off with the last of his food and drink. The foul-smelling minions of Rome cackled insanely as they swaggered out of the cave. It would be the last time.
The same scene played out numerous times in the last year. Things were getting worse. To resist meant death. He, and other Christ-followers, were starving.
Christ preached peace telling his followers “Thou shall not kill.”
Unlike Christ, a simple man could only take so much. Didymus thought about the soldiers feasting on poisonous food that night.
He prayed for forgiveness after the last soldier left.
When Harold saw the thing slithering out from beneath his bed he felt both vindicated and horrified.
His parents wouldn’t listen to him the first time he became aware of it’s presence. That’s why he wasn’t on the bed tonight and hiding behind his chest of drawers with a baseball bat.
When the thing slithered on top of his bed and wound itself around his pillow, he rushed out and smashed it into a bloody pulp!
The next morning.
“Have you seen a boa constrictor around?” his mother asked. “Billy next door said his pet boa escaped.”
“No,” he lied.
The wolf hunkered down and watched two men set their deadly traps in the snow. He was the leader of a local wolf pack. It was his job to kill, or turn, intruders away.
He followed them back to their camp. That made two sets of trappers. Each unaware of the other. He turned back to the first camp he discovered. The trappers saw him. Shot and missed. Gave chase. The wolf led them right by where the other two men set traps.
One of his pursuers screamed as he stepped into a trap!
One less human to deal with.
The two government men asked Morris to tell his story again.
“I was trying to start my lawnmower when they suddenly appeared.”
“The space men. Both had big black eyes and funny shaped heads with no mouths! They wanted me go with them.“
“No mouths? How did they ask you anything?”
A blank face. “I don’t remember…”
“Why don’t you go home and get some rest? You don’t look so good.
Morris walked out of the FBI building. He was confused. Uneasy.
“Do you think the human will talk with anyone else?” the alien asked when he left.
I’ve been around since mankind crawled out of caves.
Since humans gathered in loose groups and wandered the land, I’ve followed their progress closely. Listening. Waiting for opportunities. Knowing early technology would aide my efforts pitting one civilization against another.
I’ve been dressed up as a point of pride and honor. I gather rage among people like harvesting grain in fields of fear. Sometimes, I’m the first reaction. Sometimes, I’m the last reaction.
I come cloaked in national piety and greed. A harbinger of death. Men have died because of me throughout eternity.
Who am I?
The answer is war.
“It’s time,” his executioner said.
He knew he was paying the price for making prominent Athenian’s look like fools. His supposed crime; not believing in the gods of the state.
His wisdom, once sought after throughout the civilized world, did not save him from his fate. Justice and the pursuit of goodness led him to this last moment on earth.
He became the purifying remedy for Athens’ misfortunes despite his contributions to the state. The sacrificial goat. But he had the last laugh, eternal fame for his wisdom.
“Drink this,” the executioner offered, handing Socrates the cup of poison hemlock.