He was argued down by a child. He thought his point clear, his evidence solid and tangible, his demands for recognition of these heinous crimes (with nothing said of punishment) enough for them to come together. Surely, surely they could recognize what is right and what is just and what should not be forgiven, at least agree on that if nothing else!
But he was argued down by a child. Accused of bringing past grievances to the meeting. Of fueling a false trial, misjustice, wasting time. Christ. He came all this way to town with a punctured lung, only to be told by these people, his so-called community, that he was wasting time with this.
He can't look at Harry Goodsir or John Irving, the men Hickey'd mutilated and stabbed before, his honest-to-god former victims. He's failed them yet again. He came on too strong, didn't argue it correctly, misjudged his audience - maybe all three mistakes, perhaps more.
Alarm bell ringing, no one to listen.
It will happen again, and again, and again, until they're all...
The touch to his back jolts him out of his thoughts of ice and shale. Christ, they're still here. He blinks slowly and holds out his hand for assistance. "Take me around the side so I don't have to speak to anyone. Please."
Cowardly? Yes, but it's apparent to him how little good he can do here.
no subject
He was argued down by a child. He thought his point clear, his evidence solid and tangible, his demands for recognition of these heinous crimes (with nothing said of punishment) enough for them to come together. Surely, surely they could recognize what is right and what is just and what should not be forgiven, at least agree on that if nothing else!
But he was argued down by a child. Accused of bringing past grievances to the meeting. Of fueling a false trial, misjustice, wasting time. Christ. He came all this way to town with a punctured lung, only to be told by these people, his so-called community, that he was wasting time with this.
He can't look at Harry Goodsir or John Irving, the men Hickey'd mutilated and stabbed before, his honest-to-god former victims. He's failed them yet again. He came on too strong, didn't argue it correctly, misjudged his audience - maybe all three mistakes, perhaps more.
Alarm bell ringing, no one to listen.
It will happen again, and again, and again, until they're all...
The touch to his back jolts him out of his thoughts of ice and shale. Christ, they're still here. He blinks slowly and holds out his hand for assistance. "Take me around the side so I don't have to speak to anyone. Please."
Cowardly? Yes, but it's apparent to him how little good he can do here.