Nature Is Neutral. Nature Doesn't

Sometimes It Isn't Fighting That's Brave, Its Facing The Death You Know Is Coming.

I Hear Footsteps And Four's Hands Wrap Around My Wrists. I Let Him Pry My Hands From My Eyes. He Encloses One Of My Hands Perfectly Between Two Of His. The Warmth Of His Skin Overwhelms The Ache In My Fingers From Holding The Bars. "you All Right?" He Asks, Pressing Our Hands Together. "yeah." He Starts To Laugh.

That’s One Way Of Looking At It. I Prefer To Look At It Another Way—which Is That If They Are Persistent Enough, Even Tiny Drops Of Water, Over Time, Can Change The Rock Forever. And It Will Never Change Back.

The Man Running Toward Me Is Not A Man, He Is A Boy. A Shaggy-haired Boy With A Crease Between His Eyebrows. Will. Dull-eyed And Mindless, But Still Will. He Stops Running And Mirrors Me, His Feet Planted And His Gun Up. In An Instant, I See His Finger Poised Over The Trigger And Hear The Bullet Slide Into The Chamber, And I Fire. My Eyes Squeezed Shut. Can't Breathe. The Bullet Hit Him In The Head. I Know Because That's Where I Aimed It.

We Share A Common Enemy, But Does That Make Us Friends?