"I must have hit my head a lot harder than I had anticipated, or maybe breathe too much smoke because this is definitely nut-case crazy. Or a very creepy dream that feels way too real for my own good. I can pat my subconscious on the back for that o...
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I wake up in the middle of an ancient town, and I don't have time to think about anything because people are screaming, and fighting and there are dead children everywhere.
Correction. Toddlers. Toddlers and babies and their mothers, lying dead on the ground.
"By decree of Herod the Great, surrender your children!" one of the soldiers with blood on his sword yells.
Herod. I know this. My grandmother dragged me to church.
This is the king of Judea killing all the babies because he doesn't want to have his throne stolen by Jesus later on.
I hear babies yawling and then gurgling sounds. I'm frozen with a particular kind of dread, the one you have when you truly witness human atrocities and cruelty.
Who can follow these kinds of orders? Who's enough of a monster for it?
Who kills babies? For what? A wild goose chase? Nothing can justify killing these children. Nothing. Definitely not a power hungry man worried to lose his crown.
I want to scream and tell them that this is all useless. They won't find the baby they're looking for. They're just going to stain their hands with blood.
Nobody wins this fight.
I see fathers fighting off soldiers as the mothers try to run away with their child, but not fast enough to not get caught by another soldier.
A mother pass right by me, with her weeping child in her arms. She stumbles and falls beside me, a solder hot on her trails.
I know how this is going to end. I already know it.
I know how it's going to feel. I know how unpleasant it's going to be.
But I don't stop, because if I stop, I don't think I'll feel human. Not really. If I stop now, I don't think I'll ever forgive myself.
And I know this isn't real. Not really. And I know that whatever I do is not going to change anything.
But I think I didn't have principles before. I had a very weak moral compass. I let things slide. I didn't care.
But I want to care.
I want to be better.
I want to be good. Good enough for Gustave and Tanya.
So, I stop the solider and I push him away and I stand between him and the mother and her child, and I'm not surprised when his sword pierces right through me. I wrap my hands around the sword, keeping it there, hoping this will give enough time for the mother to run away.
