The End
It's over - in more ways than one.
Bart has nothing but contempt for my community. Kory's confused, Donna's...Donna, and Gar is feeling pretty bad. Black and Blue? Who knows what he's thinking?
Chief Boneshirt and her crew - firefighters, the FBI, more cop cars than I've ever seen - they're cleaning up the mess.
And most of my people? They distrust strangers so much now that they up and fled, most of them. To hear my mom babbling in terror? Where once, I remembered the attitude was "beat us down, we will rise," it's become a constant fear.
Damn you, McKay. You had my home under siege for a YEAR, bullying people and posturing like you're some bigshot liberator when all you are is a bully, taking your hate for all that is different out on a population that's never done you harm. You were too chicken to go after the Rez. Lavoie keeps a pistol under his counter, and Boneshirt would have you in cuffs. George Standing Ox would hear one word of your bullshit and probably lose his cool.
But, in their own way, we are to blame, every resident of Clearwater. I'll bet the methods were tried. They probably rode out to meet him and someone got hurt. They probably tried to hold their ground when the bullies came into town and that would explain the north barn. It wasn't enough. These guys were too hell-bent on picking a fight, so the best they managed was a stalemate - no, a surrender. And as much pain as these people were dishing out, they could not trust enough to ask for help. They tried to handle it on their own, in their own way - just like I did when I started in with birds and horses, rather than my friends.
Bart showed me the magazine. Brother Joe marked most of the pages with footnotes and insulting comments, "publicity whores" being among the mildest comments. He didn't think to ask, he just assumed that they were behind my disappearance, that they had brainwashed me and that Gar couldn't possibly love as deeply, being rich. After all, one just assumes the rich are evil, that they have no love but their gold. And the. Belief that these masked men are nothing more than a shadow arm of the cops, or publicity hounds who torment people for fun, profit, and fame.
Damn, on some things, we ARE as our enemies - hating what is different, what isn't part of what they have been taught.
The flour sacks and hay bales make for good targets for that practice Ms Lance was having me work on. I've got to work harder, though.
Bart has nothing but contempt for my community. Kory's confused, Donna's...Donna, and Gar is feeling pretty bad. Black and Blue? Who knows what he's thinking?
Chief Boneshirt and her crew - firefighters, the FBI, more cop cars than I've ever seen - they're cleaning up the mess.
And most of my people? They distrust strangers so much now that they up and fled, most of them. To hear my mom babbling in terror? Where once, I remembered the attitude was "beat us down, we will rise," it's become a constant fear.
Damn you, McKay. You had my home under siege for a YEAR, bullying people and posturing like you're some bigshot liberator when all you are is a bully, taking your hate for all that is different out on a population that's never done you harm. You were too chicken to go after the Rez. Lavoie keeps a pistol under his counter, and Boneshirt would have you in cuffs. George Standing Ox would hear one word of your bullshit and probably lose his cool.
But, in their own way, we are to blame, every resident of Clearwater. I'll bet the methods were tried. They probably rode out to meet him and someone got hurt. They probably tried to hold their ground when the bullies came into town and that would explain the north barn. It wasn't enough. These guys were too hell-bent on picking a fight, so the best they managed was a stalemate - no, a surrender. And as much pain as these people were dishing out, they could not trust enough to ask for help. They tried to handle it on their own, in their own way - just like I did when I started in with birds and horses, rather than my friends.
Bart showed me the magazine. Brother Joe marked most of the pages with footnotes and insulting comments, "publicity whores" being among the mildest comments. He didn't think to ask, he just assumed that they were behind my disappearance, that they had brainwashed me and that Gar couldn't possibly love as deeply, being rich. After all, one just assumes the rich are evil, that they have no love but their gold. And the. Belief that these masked men are nothing more than a shadow arm of the cops, or publicity hounds who torment people for fun, profit, and fame.
Damn, on some things, we ARE as our enemies - hating what is different, what isn't part of what they have been taught.
The flour sacks and hay bales make for good targets for that practice Ms Lance was having me work on. I've got to work harder, though.