[TM 221] "Never Pray for Justice, Because you Might Get Some"
I didn’t pray for justice. Prayer is pointless. Prayer presumes that there’s someone out there listening. The gods were another thing I left behind with my childhood-no more than a fairy tale.
No, I didn’t pray for justice. I took justice in my own hands. The end result, though, was the same. Justice gave me some of my own back.
There may well be those who would argue that I didn’t know the difference between justice and revenge. Perhaps, but in the end it didn’t matter. I got revenge, and revenge got me; I got justice, and justice got me.
There are those who might suggest that my form of justice was unfair. To the contrary, I was entirely fair-making no allowances, exacting no biases, treating everyone exactly the same.
Including those I loved the most.
Including those for whom I once would have given anything to keep safe.
Including Gina.
Even now, I think of her-it-as Gina.
It’s a difficult distinction, a difficult reminder, that she-it-was a machine. Because in the end, I wasn’t punishing it because it was a Cylon; I was punishing it for being too good at being a human.
Justice or revenge, she had earned it. It had earned it.
Earned it because it had lain next to me at night drawing lazy circles on my back with just the tips of its fingers.
Earned it because it had lain next to me at night and ran its foot down the inside of my calf slowly, finding a ticklish spot, and taking joy in making me squirm, and telling me I needed to laugh more.
Earned it because it-she-had lain next to me at night and whispered, “I love you.”
Earned it because I had whispered it back.
Earned it because, at the time, I had meant it.
And as she stood in front of me, holding the gun, knowing that I had earned that fate, I could only find myself wondering whether she had meant it too.
I got justice. I got revenge. And I got it back.
Muse: Helena Cain
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Word Count: 352
No, I didn’t pray for justice. I took justice in my own hands. The end result, though, was the same. Justice gave me some of my own back.
There may well be those who would argue that I didn’t know the difference between justice and revenge. Perhaps, but in the end it didn’t matter. I got revenge, and revenge got me; I got justice, and justice got me.
There are those who might suggest that my form of justice was unfair. To the contrary, I was entirely fair-making no allowances, exacting no biases, treating everyone exactly the same.
Including those I loved the most.
Including those for whom I once would have given anything to keep safe.
Including Gina.
Even now, I think of her-it-as Gina.
It’s a difficult distinction, a difficult reminder, that she-it-was a machine. Because in the end, I wasn’t punishing it because it was a Cylon; I was punishing it for being too good at being a human.
Justice or revenge, she had earned it. It had earned it.
Earned it because it had lain next to me at night drawing lazy circles on my back with just the tips of its fingers.
Earned it because it had lain next to me at night and ran its foot down the inside of my calf slowly, finding a ticklish spot, and taking joy in making me squirm, and telling me I needed to laugh more.
Earned it because it-she-had lain next to me at night and whispered, “I love you.”
Earned it because I had whispered it back.
Earned it because, at the time, I had meant it.
And as she stood in front of me, holding the gun, knowing that I had earned that fate, I could only find myself wondering whether she had meant it too.
I got justice. I got revenge. And I got it back.
Muse: Helena Cain
Fandom: Battlestar Galactica
Word Count: 352