02-05-2008, 01:09 AM
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Maybe he was the zombie idealist in him that scoffed at the other's words -- the pretentious and self-justified solution that said killing could be stopped with more killing. The inevitable failure of a strategy said to just kill everyone who disagreed and then there would be no one left, right? But there would always be more. Always. Even if the angry children of the slaughtered were to join their parents in the grave, the winning side would schism. There would always be someone who disagreed with how things had been carried out, the pacifist that said that what they had done was wrong. They would dissent and then what? Stir trouble, maybe, and maybe that would get them killed. Always, always, kill the nonbeliever. But then a friend of the recently deceased would start to think again and so on.
Survival of the most violent it would become. Dissent! Be killed! Be killed! Can't have the likes of you, believing something else, believing that you have a right to kill -- you can't believe that because only I have that right and I shall use it to kill you! Useless, circular, self-serving logic. Only one person is right; only I am right. Years ago, Laruku would have been happy to argue the point and he would have been bold and tactless enough to laugh in the other's face for their conflicting beliefs and philosophies. Years ago, and yet. The biting sarcasm found itself on the tip of his tongue and the quiet arrogance in the back of his mind once again.
He wanted to say, And that works, does it? Kill them all off and how long does that peace last? Am I to assume you've only been in one war then? Because certainly, if it works to just kill off the opposition, then everything would be wonderful for the rest of forever, right? He wanted to challenge the idea and crush it to the ground. He wanted to start a fight over the concept of the fight itself. But just as quickly as the impulse came, it was gone again and the headache set in from the crevices of his skull where the laughter echoed and he reminded himself that ultimately, it didn't matter here because whatever Skoll's beliefs were, he was only one wolf here, and unless he infected a good number of others with the same idea, then nothing would change. And it didn't matter.
So Laruku shrugged his scarred shoulders and pulled a cigarette and match out of seemingly no where. He lit up and crushed the flame between his fingers before tossing the stick away.
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Maybe he was the zombie idealist in him that scoffed at the other's words -- the pretentious and self-justified solution that said killing could be stopped with more killing. The inevitable failure of a strategy said to just kill everyone who disagreed and then there would be no one left, right? But there would always be more. Always. Even if the angry children of the slaughtered were to join their parents in the grave, the winning side would schism. There would always be someone who disagreed with how things had been carried out, the pacifist that said that what they had done was wrong. They would dissent and then what? Stir trouble, maybe, and maybe that would get them killed. Always, always, kill the nonbeliever. But then a friend of the recently deceased would start to think again and so on.
Survival of the most violent it would become. Dissent! Be killed! Be killed! Can't have the likes of you, believing something else, believing that you have a right to kill -- you can't believe that because only I have that right and I shall use it to kill you! Useless, circular, self-serving logic. Only one person is right; only I am right. Years ago, Laruku would have been happy to argue the point and he would have been bold and tactless enough to laugh in the other's face for their conflicting beliefs and philosophies. Years ago, and yet. The biting sarcasm found itself on the tip of his tongue and the quiet arrogance in the back of his mind once again.
He wanted to say, And that works, does it? Kill them all off and how long does that peace last? Am I to assume you've only been in one war then? Because certainly, if it works to just kill off the opposition, then everything would be wonderful for the rest of forever, right? He wanted to challenge the idea and crush it to the ground. He wanted to start a fight over the concept of the fight itself. But just as quickly as the impulse came, it was gone again and the headache set in from the crevices of his skull where the laughter echoed and he reminded himself that ultimately, it didn't matter here because whatever Skoll's beliefs were, he was only one wolf here, and unless he infected a good number of others with the same idea, then nothing would change. And it didn't matter.
So Laruku shrugged his scarred shoulders and pulled a cigarette and match out of seemingly no where. He lit up and crushed the flame between his fingers before tossing the stick away.
At some point, you become just them. You kill because you feel threatened. They probably kill for the same reason. Who's really right in the end? The one who comes out alive, right?A rhetorical question. He didn't really want an answer because he already knew what he thought. He exhaled a stream of smoke and obscured for a moment the setting sun.
I used to want to leave here,he continued,
But I don't have anywhere else to go and don't really care that much anymore.