There’s an itch at the back of his mind, a little whisper of a thought, that tells him to stop, stop, stop, stop all this, for the love of god, just stop! It’s there one moment and then it’s not, the swell of anger crashing over him again. He feels a judging stare and rankles; it’s always the judgement. He could be the expert in his field and still pushed aside, treated as though he were some kind of madman for saying what no one wanted to hear.
“You think I’m being sanctimonious,” he says coolly. “A child is vulnerable, even if they’re fighting someone else’s war. Even a child with a goddamn gun is still vulnerable. If that makes me a fool to believe then fine, you and the others can slaughter the lot of them, I don’t want be a part of it.”
Crozier stands again, still fuming. Hot, even, thinking of all the ship’s boys who were sold into the navy, of the lost childhood of that poor little Inuit girl. His tunic is too warm for him, so in his haze he goes searching for something to replace it.
“I don’t want them to thank me,” he grumbles. “I don’t want for a goddamn thing other than to stop seeing blood on the snow.”
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2024-06-10 10:29 pm (UTC)There’s an itch at the back of his mind, a little whisper of a thought, that tells him to stop, stop, stop, stop all this, for the love of god, just stop! It’s there one moment and then it’s not, the swell of anger crashing over him again. He feels a judging stare and rankles; it’s always the judgement. He could be the expert in his field and still pushed aside, treated as though he were some kind of madman for saying what no one wanted to hear.
“You think I’m being sanctimonious,” he says coolly. “A child is vulnerable, even if they’re fighting someone else’s war. Even a child with a goddamn gun is still vulnerable. If that makes me a fool to believe then fine, you and the others can slaughter the lot of them, I don’t want be a part of it.”
Crozier stands again, still fuming. Hot, even, thinking of all the ship’s boys who were sold into the navy, of the lost childhood of that poor little Inuit girl. His tunic is too warm for him, so in his haze he goes searching for something to replace it.
“I don’t want them to thank me,” he grumbles. “I don’t want for a goddamn thing other than to stop seeing blood on the snow.”