Cyrus’s Journal – 11/18/1901


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Freedom. Such a loaded word. Been trying to think of a more dangerous so called unalienable. All types of folks have fought and bled to get it, but looking back through history, seems the best part of that struggle is the fight itself. Once you get that freedom, then you have to give it to your brother and sister, and ain’t no telling what they’ll do with it.

Then one steps out of line and you have to point your finger at them and their action and say, “No, you can’t do that.” And in that moment your and their freedom gets a little smaller. A little tighter round the neck.

Then you gotta sit down with those that want to sit, and spit back and forth until you have a consensus, or a majority, or a leader willing to remove those who disagree. And you come up with a new version of right that stays in place until someone with a different view on what it means to be free gathers enough of their friends to turn the old world on its head and start all over.

Freedom ain’t nothing but a viper coiled in a perambulator. We tell ourselves it’s pure and worthy and it’s nothing but hope and promise, but as soon as we decide to lift the blanket we’re given two fangs and a toxin that stops the hope and promise dead in their tracks.

And yet… damned if I don’t want to be free. And I tell myself I know, truly know what it means to be free. And I point to the things that lie outside of the borders I’ve drawn and condemn them. I condemn them with confidence and not a thought of my potential fallibility rises to sway me.

So here I sit, with my finger pointed directly at our Sherriff. Not in public mind you. Not sure if I’m a coward, or if my instinct has a stronger grasp on the danger than my conscious self, but, never the less, I have raised my arm and I point.

Although I am without proof, I have no hard evidence, no tangible bread crumb, nothing to show to Claude, I still know. His danger is a fact to me. His… attention… is chilling. Not a thing passes his observation, and from time to time I see a particular turn of his mouth that chills me. It is a frown of judgment. A frown that comes from a sick desire to cleanse.

I do not know how I know this, nor am I want to give it much thought. To know such a thing as confidently as I do is to have that thing inside you. I hate that he has given this realization, but this is a small concern considering I know that he is danger. Danger personified. He is exactly what I feared would come. Freedom is the snake and he is the venom.

 

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