This little tale started itself about a dozen years ago. It was originally a one page background for a D&D character. Then came a dream or three which added so much more. Life & Death interfered for many years. I’ve begun dreaming of the tale again, recently. This will eventually be a book, I hope.

So please, go get yourself a tall cold beverage, adjust your reading glasses and settle into your comfy chair….

  The Seth runs his hand through his coarse grey hair, causing greater disarray, then strokes his wispy beard and settles his patched and faded robes. He picks up the tankard, takes a quick swallow and places it back on the floor.

  As he begins, his voice gains resonance and depth. “And so begins the tale of ‘How the Dwarves Came to the Mountain’. This happened long, long ago before your Grandfathers-Grandfathers time.

  ” The GoldSmith’s great, great, grand-sire was The Blackfist, thane of his clan. This clan of dwarves lived in a series of great caverns at the northern end of the Mohz Mountains. They had lived there for as long as anyone could remember. Some legends say that this is the clan from which all other dwarves have come. Of course, those are only legends while the tale you are now hearing is truth.

  The Blackfist had three sons: Degel-draug (by his first mate who died bearing the boy), and Alriac and Kharthi (by his second mate).  Blackfist and his sons were great metal workers and made many useful and functional items for their home caves and for the few traders who happened by. Degel-draug was first-born, so according to the dwarven ways he was next in line to succeed as The Blackfist. As time passed and the sons matured it became apparent that Degel-draug was not as good a metal-worker as his sire. Although he tried very hard to do exactly as his sire said, things usually didn’t work out quite right.

  Alriac, next in line should something happen to Degel-draug, and Kharthi, the last-born, both had the gift of metal-working. They both could fashion swords and daggers, pots and vessels. Their work was so similar in quality and style that only the Blackfist could distinguish between them. Alriac and Kharthi tried to help their brother, to teach him their skills, to protect him from their fathers’ wrath. First with advice and encouragement, then with assistance at the forge, and finally, they tempted Degel-draug with, what was at the time thought to be, a minor deception. The three sons plotted and planned until they arrived at the perfect scheme.

  Degel-draug started `working’ at the forge at night, while his brothers continued to work with their father each day. Alriac and Kharthi worked diligently each day producing a little more. Soon they were each making one and a half times as much as they had before, secreting the excess for Degel-draug to pass off as his own. The Blackfist was impressed with the quality of Degel-draug’s ‘work’ claiming to all who would listen that one could not tell the difference in the work of his three sons. The Blackfist also stated that Degel-draug had only needed solitude to concentrate and perfect his craft; the seclusion of night provided this. 

  Degel-draug spent his time in the forge either reading The Chronicles, writing prose or legends, planning lavish entertainments for the future, or, when in a contemplative mood, staring at the stars.

  The sons grew as time passed, filling out from their work at the forge, maturing into men. They kept up the deception not knowing what else to do. They married the young women their father had chosen for them, moving from his cave and settling into their own. Alriac worked hard each day at the forge, perfecting his craft, sustaining his small family of two. In time Alriac and his mate presented the Blackfist with their son, Elriad, the Blackfist’s first born grandchild.”

  The Seth leans over and picks up his tankard. He drinks in the heady aroma of the black-wine before taking a small sample and rolling it around on his tongue. His grey eyes continue to scan the children’s faces throughout this small ritual, as they have through his recitation of the tale, to measure their reaction – and his worth. The Seth takes another small swallow and continues…

  “In the one hundred ninety first year of his honour The Blackfist’s attention was taken away from his sons, and their work, by the arrival of the Redfist clan. The Redfist was a good hundred years younger than he, not much older than his sons, and led a much more sizable clan. A war erupted and by a simple twist of fate both The Blackfist and The Redfist lost their lives and their clans two days after battle was joined. The war was halted abruptly by unspoken mutual agreement. A period of mourning ensued for each tribe: seventeen days for the Redfists, and one hundred ninety-one days for the Blackfists, a day in remembrance for each year of their honour. The new Redfist wanted no wars with anyone, feeling that to be a futile act, and took his clan west to the Fuahn Mountains, leaving before the Blackfists had finished their mourning.

  Degel-draug was now The Blackfist. He asked his brothers to continue with the deception because he was eager to take up the other duties that came with the honour. Alriac did not answer immediately. Then he told his older brother that he could not help, but he would not hinder him. Kharthi told Degel-draug that he would help, and by haste in speaking the seed of doubt was planted.

  Tens of years went by and The Blackfist’s secret was safe, but doubt of Alriacs loyalty grew and grew in Degel-draug’s fevered mind. Degel-draug came to believe Alriac had hatched the deception, all those years ago, in order to reveal him, at any moment, to the clan. Or had a plan to kill him and thereby gain the honour. Or maybe Alriac had planned the whole thing in order to dishonor him and gain the honor.

  First one and then several men came to Alriac stating their dissatisfaction in the clan. He counseled patience and hoped that his own would last. Degel-draug’s imbalance was beginning to be noticed by the clan.

  An accident, a glancing blow, with a newly honed blade, was dealt to Alriac by his apprentice, slicing a gash from shoulder to elbow. He was cut to the bone, pieces chipped out. Kharthi called in the best herbalists (Degel-draug, in his state of mind did not understand what had happened) but even with all their skill Alriac fell sicker still, fevered and thrashing. His bandages leaked greenish pus and smelt terrible. The herbalists tried poultices, teas, and plasters, and finally in desperation leeches, but nothing helped Alriac. One short week after the accident Alriac died and Degel-draug, obsessed as he was with doubt and jealousy, didn’t even realize. His distrust shifted from Alriac to Alriac’s son, Elriad. Even with Kharthi’s defense of the boy and his `wild tales’ of Alriacs death, doubt and fear of Alriac/Elriad intensified in Degel-draug’s mind.

  In the forty-third year of his honor, a trading caravan came through and Degel-draug entertained them with a lavish feast. He drank from the old vintages a little too thoroughly and spoke without thinking. The caravan master offered to “take care of the problem” for him and Degel-draug paid the fee of 72 gold without a hint of haggle. Befuddled as he was with drink, he had no idea what he had done. Obsessed as he was I’m not sure that it would have mattered.

  Elriad got word of the plot, through some of the men who had complained to his father. Deciding to evade the trap and leave the clan he asked the men to join him. He alerted Kharthi, gathered his family, the men, and those others who chose to go, and in the space of a night they left the Clan of Blackfist, set off on hegira.

  They headed south through the Mohz mountains, thirteen men, nine women and numerous children, four of which had to be carried. Along the base of the mountains they journeyed for three days before beginning to search out a new home. They crossed numerous dry ravines and then, farther south, a few creeks. Seventeen days into the journey, a storm blew in from the west, over the mountains. The sky grew black as night. The thunder rolled off the mountains deafening the dwarves. Lightning cracked over their heads, filling the air with the electrical smell of ozone. The dwarves hid amidst some giant tossed boulders, waiting for the storm to pass. For a week they waited and watched while Aquia, Soll and Lunya battled. On the morning of the eighth day Soll arose, alone in Her glory, looking none the worse for Her eternal struggle with Her sisters.

  The dwarves again pushed on. For twenty-five days they had been homeless, seven spent cowering amidst the rocks! Morale had never been lower. Surely soon a home would be found. They traveled through bramble and gorse, great forests of pine, oak, ash and elm, working their way farther and farther south. The search for a new home seemed never to be completed as one location, and then another and another, were dismissed as unsuitable. Then, in the mid-morning of the forty-third day of the search, Vitara…” 

  “That’s my name!” Vitara breathes excitedly. The Seth looks sternly at the frail, angelic child at his feet and picks up his tankard. Vitara’s eyes grow huge and resemble great emeralds shot with gold. She gasps, and with a star-fish hand covers her mouth. The Seth takes a small sip his steel grey eyes looking over the rim, straight into the childs eyes all the while. As he moves the vessel to the floor he says gently, “It’s alright; I did the same, every time I heard my name until I was almost three …or was it almost four?” His eyes twinkle as he watches her. He knows her fourth birthday was just over a week ago, a lifetime to one that age. “You will come to know that you can not listen while your mouth is running.”

  “So, in the morning of the forty third day of the search, Vitara, Elriads first-born, asked her father if a home would ever be found. Elriad told his daughter they would find the perfect place; they would know when it `felt’ right and they would be home. On they trudged through the rest of that morning and into the afternoon. Then as they came around the base of a mountain they found it was the last one. They had reached the end of the mountain range. Elriad was struck dumb. All that way and still no home. Where were they to go now?

  A shout raised Elriads eyes and he saw his sisters’ son, Grond, pointing out towards the plains. He raised his hand, shielding his eyes from Soll, and looked south. A small peak, a mere bump was just barely visible on the edge of the horizon. A spark of hope flared within him. Another mountain range! Surely it held a home for this small clan.

  Leaving sign for those who might follow, they pushed on across the plains and suddenly, into a desert. Such desolation had never before been witnessed by this clan. Spirits ebbed, hope was fading. Had the decision to leave the old home been a wise one? As the party pushed on, down trodden and footsore, they came to the realization that this mountain stood alone. Feeling very alone themselves, and somewhat cast adrift in this unfamiliar land, it seemed an omen from The One to find this place just now. A solitary mountain for a small, newly formed clan.

  The small, weary party pushed on. They reached the base of the mountain three days later, just after full dark. Camp was made and an expectant hush fell over them. No-one wanted to explore until morning so that Soll could shine Her blessing upon them. The mountain had looked promising as they had approached, but twilight had turned rapidly to dark, the details impossible to make out. Morning would be arriving soon, then they would see. All stayed awake throughout that night, even the littlest ones not wanting to miss the first rays of the dawn. A companionable silence encompassed the group. All felt the peace of the place surround them and almost seem to lend them strength for the day ahead.”

The Seth clears his throat then coughs. Drel hands him the tankard wordlessly, intent on having the tale continued. The Seth takes a long drink then hands the vessel back. His eyes take in the few who have stopped at the edge of the tent to listen to the tale. Catching A’drui’s eye he scratches his right ear. The boy takes the worn copper dish from the floor in front of him and deposits two copper in it before passing it back, toward the newcomers. Nodding the Seth continues the tale…

  “The group of dwarves sat with their backs towards the rising sun, facing the mountain. As first-light dawned, the mountain came alive and seemed much larger than it had the night before. The shrubs and vines almost glowed in the half light, now silver, now the palest of greens, dancing to the tune of the constant breeze. As they watched, the first rays of Soll touched the top of the mountain and it glittered, like a crown on a royal head, silver and peridot-green. A collective gasp came from the group, as if they had held their breaths through the long night, waiting for this moment.

  Soll continued Her journey up through the heavens, touching the mountain with Her gaze. As She traveled higher, and Her rays touched the herbaceous cape of the mountain, it bloomed! Starting just below the crown and inching its way down the side, each blossom burst into color. Magenta…fuchsia…yellow… Aqua as pure as a mountain stream. A red as deep as half dried blood. Greens..from palest chartruese to deepest emerald. Blue,.orange,.silver,.grey,.purple. Every color, every shade and hue ever seen, bloomed and shined from the mountain side in synchronization with the rising of Soll. 

  The little group of dwarves sat stunned near the base of the solitary mountain. You see they had never witnessed this, unlike you and I who have seen, every morning of our lives, the blooming. They had been hoping for a suitable home and it seemed they had found a palace. From under its cloak of blooms, where there were rents in the mass of color, the mountain itself shone through, its skin glittering like diamonds. Proudly it displayed itself for their inspection.  The little group rose in wonder, and made their way towards its base.

  After some discussion it was found that none of the men could detect any caves or tunnels, natural or hewn, and doubt again began to spread. The beauty and peace of the place was not enough. A cavern, or even a small cave that could be enlarged in time, must be found to protect the group from the elements and give them the sense of security that we all require. The group, disheartened but not yet willing to give up, made their way up the tall mountain. Although steep, a way up was found. Cutting back and forth across the eastern face a switch back trail was hewn. The mountain seemed to have had its western side sheared off, eons ago, making a circular route impossible. As the day and the dwarves progressed, it became hotter. The blooms, so fragrant and exotic, were sensitive to the heat and hid their faces. The dwarves also began to wilt as the heat of the day increased and began to oppress them.

  Upon reaching the summit the dwarves were again in awe of the beauty and majesty of the place. A breeze blew constantly from the western edge cooling them. A plateau, about three acres or so of luxuriant grasses, spread before them. The plateau was oval in shape with a slight indentation on the western side. The vines from below crept over the edge there, the starting line of their race over the grasses. A small herd of sheep was startled, disappearing over the southern edge. Here and there along the sharp edges, quartz, in varied colours peered.”
  The old man takes a slim wand from the cross braces under his stool, unnoticed until now. With it he sketches a rough map in the hard packed dirt at his feet. The children scuttle close in order to see…

  “The height of the lonely peak allowed miles of country side to be seen. To the North, just barely discernable past the rising heat of the desert, the Mohz Mountain range shimmered. To the East, scrub prairies that turn to grass lands in the south. Lush prairies filled with the greenest of grasses and wild herds of sheep to the west, fading to a tree line in the far distance. North-west the grass turns to scrub and then to desert again.

  After resting and sharing their first meal since their arrival, the dwarves descended the southern face along the almost indiscernible sheep trail. They moved as one, circling around to the west and looked up…and up. Rising over 750 feet, draped with blossoms, the mountain rose. Elriad was later heard to say that this sight of the mountain, dressed in tresses and capes, had moved him, touched him deeply as nothing ever had, before or since; and that She should have remained so and not have been shorn for any man.

  A feeling came over them all as they gazed at its heights and Elriad knew they were home. Without a word being spoken the men took out the tools they had carried all this way and set to work. A way was made, behind the vines, working them carefully loose to hang in front of the path. Almost halfway up, near the center point of the western face, The Cave was uncovered. The vines were pulled back, away from the entrance and tied. Soll made Her way into the entrance as did the dwarves. They found, after a short passage, a roughly circular cavern about fifty feet in diameter.

  As Soll lowered Her head behind the western horizon the party settled in. Elriad left the cave and climbed to the top of the mountain once more to give thanks to The One. After meditating on the proper forms and phrases, to ensure that he was heard, Elriad thanked The One for this new home, the endurance and fortitude lent by Him to this humble clan, and asked for guidance, so that all would make wise decisions in this new place. He asked for continued endurance so that the clan might thrive under these adverse conditions. Ending his meditations with the ancient rituals, he looked up to find Soll had finished her journeying and Lunyas journey was just beginning.

  Elriad arose to his feet and found, much to his surprise, that his knees, elbows and forearms were damp and some what muddy. He had felt nothing during the ritual! He bent to examine the water skin at his feet, thinking that maybe he had trod on it and caused it to burst. The skin appeared fine, just as it had when he began his meditations. But where had the mud come from? Elriad bent and started searching through the vines. Lunya appeared full faced from behind a cloud bank to lend Her aid. Upon further scrutiny he found that he had been kneeling just on the edge of a mushy, muddy area about fifty feet in diameter. No-one had detected this earlier due to the lush vines covering the area. Amazed at the discovery, and hoping this was a true source of water and not left from the last big rain, Elriad made his way quickly back down the west face, using the vines to lower himself.

  As he entered the cavern, muddy and leaf strewn, he wondered how long he had been on the plateau. The cavern had been transformed! Glow globes, brought all the way from the old cave, had been placed here and there around the walls giving a warm, homey feel to the place. The beds had been rolled out at the back of the cavern and looked almost irresistible. The children had pulled their bed rolls together and piled them up to make one large thick square. They were all piled together on this, like a burrow of rabbits, keeping each other warm.

  The few remaining supplies had been unpacked and sorted. What looked to be all the remaining food was spread on the finest, most clean burlap near the entrance. A small fire was burning directly in front of this, its smoke escaping down the passage. Elriad moved around the fire and surveyed the cavern in wonder. This was home. They had arrived at last.

  “And so ends the tale of `How The Dwarves Came to The Mountain’.” The Seth takes another long pull from the watered wine, watching the small crowd that has gathered deposit coins in the copper plate and disperse; measuring the childrens reactions. Drel,as always, has hung on every word, in places mouthing the words along with him. The rest stayed alert, enjoying the tale not realizing the history they had absorbed. As long as there were children to listen the past would not be lost.

  Durlije rises, placing Vitara on her feet. “Thank you for your company”he says bowing to her.  He works out the cramps from legs and back, stretching, then speaks to The Seth. “I thank you for the tale, you honour the Dwarves. As always, the tale was told with accuracy.” He bows low to The Seth. Then he turns and makes his way up to the Bazaar, becoming lost in the crowds.

continued in Part 3

© RiaD; all rights reserved

I’m now a week away from ….I don’t know – nothingness might be an apt word.

So this last bit of blogging is essentially risk-free and somewhat liberating, as lasthorsestanding remarked on another thread. My other life – the one where I had a home, an occupation and a “normal life” – is one you might find of interest, and how it led to today, where I have nothing and no one, and where there is no future except no future.

Several years ago, I was house-hunting for a small country place in which to be able to keep my two horses.

I wanted to move closer to work because my 120 mile daily round trip was horrible on top of my 13 hour shifts. I found a real estate agent through a co-worker, and told her what I was looking for. Had we been near a milton realtor we would have used them, but this was not the case. Anyway, she steered me to run down houses in far parts of the rural county, some with commutes almost as long as I already had. So I got out the multiple listings and looked on my own.

In short order I saw one that didn’t have an excessive amount of acreage, was close to where my other horse-friends lived and rode, and had ample room for my horses and rescued dogs and cats.

In fact, it turned out to have two enormous horse barns with a large hay mow, indoor riding arena, round pen and several paddocks. I was shown the acreage and told that it would be a farm split and surveyed to existing fence lines, which were pointed out to me and the agent. The farm house was old, but I was told that all repairs were current, and that a chimney fire had been fully repaired.

The remaining farm acreage was being tenant farmed by a township trustee, and I was given right of first refusal to purchase it if it was put on the market. Several of my horse friends remarked that they knew the sellers, and no one offered any warnings except to say that the sellers were well-known in horse training and showing circles.

At the closing, the real estate agent – the sellers – who was also a firend of my veterinarian, made no statements that anything was amiss with the farm. My agent’s associate told me at the closing that the mineral and oil rights were being retained by the sellers, but that practice was normal. I didn’t know better, and I didn’t have a lawyer present – my banker said nothing, and she was there. Stupid, stupid me.

A month later when the leaves fell, directly in front of my land was an enormous dump on the ridge of the farmed acreage that the township trustee was farming. It spilled into the creek. I went on a walk to investigate and I discovered jars of mercury, farm batteries, jars of unlabelled liquids, antifreeze, and piles upon piles upon piles of tires of every size – farm, commercial and auto. Plus the remains of farm equipment, this dump went on for a hundred yards or more. I picked up several jars and cans and took them on my own to local haz mat disposition events. And then came winter.

I couldn’t heat the house beyond 55 degrees no matter how much I ran the furnace or kept the wood burner stove fired up. And the next door neighbor’s front yard pond continually leaked and drained down my farm drive and directly into the horse barns, making many of the stalls unusable. The neighbor was also hostile and acted aggressive and dangerous. I asked him to stay off my property as he was wont to scream obscenities and then would yell that he didn’t want to live next to a farm.

One morning I discovered him putting up a mailbox on my property, and I went outside and told him to remove himself and his property. He picked up the post hole digger and swung it at my head like a baseball bat. I called the sheriff’s department and after a half hour, two deputies came out, spoke to him, and one told me that I should buy a gun and if I had to use it, shoot to kill. Otherwise, I was told, I would be paying his medical care bills. They refused to file charges against him.

That was just the beginning.

I called the county health department about the dump, and I was treated as if I was the culprit instead of the person trying to clean up a problem. So I called the EPA, and when I described the contents, I was fast tracked to a person who did take the complaint and apparently did follow through. A few months later, huge commercial dumpsters arrived in caravans, and it appeared as if a commercial entity was cleaning up the dump. A year or so later, the same trustee was interviewed by local media when another dump was discovered on a former trustee’s land. He was proud of that trustee and announced that dumps like those could be found everywhere, and they were perfectly fine. No one followed up.

I had a lawyer for a time, but he opened every can of worms and then after making a thorough mess, walked away, proclaiming that the lawyer for the sellers (who was also the lawyer for the township trustees, surrounding property owners and the sellers – oh and he was city councilman for the next town over, too), was a “real nice guy”. He used up my window of time in which to sue, started a bunch of meaningless proceedings, exposed me to the wrath of the township trustees, and then disappeared after running up as a large a bill as possible. Legal representation.

That spring, I hired a company to re-side the house and another to install geothermal heat and a new furnace. If you were in the same predicament as me during that time, then getting a new Denver furnace installation, or one nearer to your home is important to get your house running efficiently. What was discovered was shocking.

There was an 8x 10-foot hole in the side of the house from the chimney fire – coincidentally one fo the responding firefighters was on the property when the siders discovered it, and he told me he happened to be the one to make the hole in order to extinguish the fired in the wall. It had simply been covered with a patch of aluminum siding – no wall was there.

The furnace had a large crack and had been leaking carbon monoxide. Only that hole in the wall kept the gas level low enough not to be fatal. My friend suggested I look into furnace repair as soon as possible so no one gets hurt.

The “neighbor” next door was a known trouble maker, and the house had been previously owned by the sellers of my house. They sold it to a sister who sold it to the aggressive new neighbor.

And the township trustee who was farming the dump property turned out to be the local factory farmer mafia. All of the surrounding property owners purchased services or goods from him, and I had been instructed to do the same – via hay sales or pasture mowing or other farm-related services. Soon the township trustee’s equipment was showing up on private property doing private work.

And because the EPA was investigating the dump, I was now a target by the township trustees for outing them. I was targeted by all surrounding property owners. My animals were shot, poisoned, lured to the road and run over, and I had loaded guns pointed at me on multiple occasions. I was told by the township trustee that they commanded the country prosecutor to do their bidding, and that they were “going to get me.” I was charged with building a fence too close to the road, with allowing animals to roam (when neighbors trespassed and opened gates) and with animal cruelty – to an animal that the county animal control officer stole that had just returned from a prolonged stay at the veterinarian’s and was awaiting an appointment with another veterinarian. I was stalked by neighbors and followed by sheriff’s deputies. I returned home to windows jimmied open, doors broken, my house and barns ransacked, new fencing destroyed, animals dead or missing, dog poop strewn throughout my house, and I began to come to the farm only to feed and care for the animals, and then I would sleep in my car at highway rest stops, only returning in the early morning to feed, do morning chores and get dressed for work. It’s probably about time that I start thinking about getting some replacement windows installed; ones that are stronger and more durable this time I think. It’s one of the many ways that would keep my property safer from what’s been going on. Thankfully my friend recommended to me that I use a company like Graceland Windows – this is their website (https://gracelandwindows.com/), to help get the ball rolling. When I get a spare moment, I think I may have a look. Anything to improve the security of my home. Sheriff’s deputies pointed out my security cameras to trespassing surrounding property owners as I was complaining about their trespassing. In other words, deputies were escorting trespassers around my property. They were never surprised when I reported break-ins, and they consistently refused to file reports. As to the gun reports – those were conveniently lost.

I was harassed when I went to vote, complained to the board of elections and was told that I would have to lie in order to get an absentee ballot. I had been a Republican (really a RINO as I never voted for them, just used it to shape primaries) in a Republican township, but I went to the BOE and changed my party affiliation to Democrat and requested an absentee ballot be sent. Of course, it never arrived.

The post mistress was related to a township trustee. My mail was routinely stolen or turned up months later in a culvert after a rain. The trustees dug up all of the road frontage of my property and destroyed my driveway. They re-routed culvert drainage from the road to go down my drives and into my horse barns, making them unusable. They harassed my horse boarders and visitors to the animal sanctuary. Another township trustee was related to the house sellers. Almost everyone in the town, township and county are familially related, and they all do business with one another.

People who knew what was happening to me were afraid to be seen with me. Visitors to the farm, where I had been trying to operate an animal sanctuary for old and ill animals, were routinely followed and boxed in my drive way. I was afraid to have anyone come to the farm, and I warned off my boarders. I had renovated a kennel building with my retirement funds and tried to do limited commercial dog and cat boarding to pay for the sanctuary expenses. On the first weekend with a full kennel, when I was away picking up supplies, someone opened the kennel, let all of the dogs loose, and shot one. Who? The next door neighbor, who faxed a report of doing so to the animal control officer, who took no action. I gave up dog boarding, and the tens of thousands of dollars I invested in the renovation were lost. I took another outside job in order to pay bills.

And while I was away at work daily, trespassers continued to wreak havoc on the farm. I never knew when I would come back for evening chores what animals would have been harmed, killed, stolen, and what damage would have been done to my property.

I finally fled in the middle of the night to try to get away from all of them in another part of the country. They have followed me everywhere. And now that I was treated by employers in three successive jobs in a hostile fashion for being ethical and standing up for worker rights and for patient safety, I am done.

I am exhausted. No one with power, authority and the ability to help will do so. I’m a dead man walking, but not for much longer. I can’t wait to be done with this world.

And this is how oppression happens. No one will stand together, and in my example, me standing alone, is ineffective, and it’s fatal.

The trustee’s threat to “get me” wasn’t an idle one. He did, and I’m got.