The Nature of Things

"In the End, we will remember not the words of our enemies,
but the silence of our friends."
~ Martin Luther King Jr.

"The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing."
~ Edmund Burke

Hatred is not an easy thing to understand. Always a direct defiance of love. So what does this hatred look like? Crazy, piercing blue eyes, gritty, gangly teeth inside a mouth that loves to spit; which is in turn attached to a head with a mind that loves to laugh as it carries out its sick and somewhat curious conquest of torture. Torture? To a mind that is already bent and somewhat broken, you'd think torture would be the last thing deserved. This is nature.

Hatred's name is Jack. He's mildly retarded and easily egged on to do the worst of things. He was taught the book of insults by the groups of guys that my brother likes to hang out with so he can feel bad. Today is football day.

Flagrantly condescending and/or playfully insulting is something I can stand with a straight face or a smile if their mildly funny. Talking about my father, though, is a good cause for anger, but I'm passive; This is weakness. The lack of words and a hurt face gives cause for another vicious attack just like any crazed fighter does when they see blood. Attack is Hatred's favorite play.

Ignoring such blows, and in a way deflecting them, opens up for a new line of punishment that I hadn't known. A call of my name by Hatred, and a turn of my head for what reason but only to receive its new gift of torture, which blinded me not by light, but by mucus; I was surprised. Now, one would think to get up and jack Hatred's jaw, but not this one. It seems that weakness is my forte. The pacifist I am.

I looked to my brother as the rest laughed at me with Hatred as he prodded me with sticks of insults from my obvious declination to a fight. He didn't laugh. He didn't frown. He didn't do anything. Not even on the walk home did he say a word. It was like he wasn't my brother. Just another person amongst the many manipulated by Hatred in one shape or form.

I didn't lose anything of myself to Hatred from the insults or the spit. Not even dignity was lost. I stood my ground in my own way as an innocent. The only thing I lost in battle against Hatred was that special love. This is nature.