Number Fourteen Down (Eight Letters, Stabbed Our Savior...)
It wasn't that he hated the fact that he was wrong (although knowing without a shadow of a doubt he was didn't help), it was the fact that everyone kept reminding him exactly how wrong he was. Which was, let's face it, irredeemably wrong. Irreversibly wrong. It was as if he was related to the Roman Centurion who had stabbed Jesus during the crucifixion, but to be fair, Longinus went on to sainthood...
But he could delude himself with the best of them. He would secretly disregard these people and their opinions, not because they enjoyed pointing out his wrongness, but under the guise that he could not stomach people who were so very sure. Those that were too certain. People who were undeniably definite as if they were a recent born again who magically (or through the grace of god) forgot their own too recent failings. For he believed (when it was convenient) that there were no absolutes in life and that this was a world soaked in gray. It was rather easy to do when a "civilized" people cannot decide exactly what torture is, or what the definition of the word "is" is...
And as these people spoke, and chided, and ranted there was a point, a very palpable point whereas the train of logic would come to a halt. A switch would be thrown in their head and logic would roll off onto a different spur, suddenly he'd find himself faced with the personal, with the emotional, with the undefendable. Because if there is something that we have all experienced and that we all feel that we're experts on, it's that of being betrayed. Because each time it's different. And each time it's avoidable. And yet each time, it keeps happening.
But he could delude himself with the best of them. He would secretly disregard these people and their opinions, not because they enjoyed pointing out his wrongness, but under the guise that he could not stomach people who were so very sure. Those that were too certain. People who were undeniably definite as if they were a recent born again who magically (or through the grace of god) forgot their own too recent failings. For he believed (when it was convenient) that there were no absolutes in life and that this was a world soaked in gray. It was rather easy to do when a "civilized" people cannot decide exactly what torture is, or what the definition of the word "is" is...
And as these people spoke, and chided, and ranted there was a point, a very palpable point whereas the train of logic would come to a halt. A switch would be thrown in their head and logic would roll off onto a different spur, suddenly he'd find himself faced with the personal, with the emotional, with the undefendable. Because if there is something that we have all experienced and that we all feel that we're experts on, it's that of being betrayed. Because each time it's different. And each time it's avoidable. And yet each time, it keeps happening.