A Writer's HopeThey say that the world was created in darkness and inaugurated in blood. The priests tell us that we are the results of this, and thus, we are all forged of evil. Since early childhood were are warned about listening to that voice inside our heads which urges us towards ends which could be our undoing. The problem is, how can we fight something that is so integral a part of us? Surely we can no more deny our own evil than we can our own parents? We are the way we are, the world is how it is supposed to be. Who are we to argue? If one of the brothers were to see what I was writing now, then they would surely say that my words are poison, that my questioning is evil, my doubt immoral. I cannot believe this, not after everything I have seen. I demur now that there is such thing as evil. I think it is just our nature. Of course, it is something to fight; I truly believe that good for goodness’ sake has immeasurable merit. I understand too that not everyone will agree with me.
The War of Ink and PaperEveryone knows that wars are fought with swords. The bards tell of blades that sing and of the heroic last stands of great generals. A soldier will tell you of the clash of steel, of the confusion in the fray, and the screams of dying men. They describe the blood soaked fields and streams that ran red.There are men who claim that wars are fought when words fail; or when those involved have not the wit to sit and talk before throwing lives at their quarrel. Battles result from damaged pride and over-reaching ambition.This is the story of a war that began with a letter. The bards should sing of the civil war born from ink and paper and the hope it gave to a boy ashamed of his father. There would have been peace if it had not been for words.I used to sit and imagine that somewhere buried deep, were the bones of some long-dead scribe. He was known once, but now he is nameless. He put his hand to parchment and created something that very nearly tore a kingdom apart. He would have set dow