Wordless, she sat
thinking of her murdered son
as she watched the black and white cruiser go by.
No Protect and Serve about it.
A black crow flies above good and evil, impervious to it all.
The words of the master like an echo in her mind whispering across space and time.
"Forgive them Father, for they know not what they do."
Meanwhile, she could not keep her hand from caressing the hand cannon sitting like a black shark on her dining room table.
Her skin leaking out a hidden volcano pouring on the steps of injustice.
The friendly hand of mercy arm wrestling with another kind of hand.
Every breath she drew in shook because she didn't know which hand
would win.
Fire or water.
Which one do you choose?
The Warrior of the Light never forgets the old saying:
The good little goat doesn't bleat.
Injustices happen. Everyone finds themselves in situations they do not deserve, usually when they are unable to defend themselves. Defeat often knocks at the warrior's door.
At such times, he remains silent. He does not waste energy on words, because they can do nothing. He knows it is best to use his strength to resist and have patience, knowing that Someone is watching. Someone who saw the unnecessary suffering and will not accept it.
That someone gives him what he needs most: time. Sooner or later, everything will once work more in his favor.
A Warrior of the Light is wise; he does not talk about his defeats.
-Paulo Coelho