the blessings of brutality

Sleep was long in coming. The job must be done, and no one could do it for me. Facing tomorrow with such dread, I fought all night with myself in my dreams.

I just can’t do it. I love them. 

You love them? How can you say that?? You keep them locked away, out of sight, and never even talk to them!

Well, that may be true. But I think about them a lot; doesn’t that count as loving them?

Look, it’s worse to let them stay and ignore them. At least this way they can die with dignity.

I can’t abandon them. They’ve been here for years. They’re part of the family. 

You have to be brutal.

But I’m not the brutal type.

Sure you are – anybody can be. Go ahead, let go and let your inner brutality shine through. You’ll feel much better about yourself, I promise.

NO. I can’t do it. It’s murder!

Oh come on – it’s not murder. Think of it as mercy killing.

And I awoke. It was time for brutality. No prisoners, few survivors.

And it’s true, I did feel better afterward – refreshed, rejuvenated, ready to be brutal again.

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