A new mythology is needed and it has finally come to me what the centrifugal theme will be, and that is, of course, a tale of the bastard child. Only this time, the mission she is sent for, you are surprised that our savior is a woman aren’t you, but it is time for at least one tale to inspire little girls to never be victims. Surely that would almost make all the suffering of the women before you a little more worthy of just outcome if the end is that we will warn you of the wolves at your door and you will also be saved by other wolves so it’s a matter of knowing friend or foe, to survive long enough to grow strong and smart. Much of this also involves being silent. In speech. But the pen is mightier than the sword, they now say, but that is only because the sword quietly watches as the pen must get its rest each night to continue defending the want of the sword but not necessarily the need of a weapon that assures death. The mutually assured destruction policies were borne of fear, when there were too many people in the world. So many that too few appreciated her, their Mother Earth, Gaia, the one who sustained everything about them and yet they were filled with such disrespect, it made a metallic taste in her mouth.
She spit it out.
The bastard fights no vengeance battle, no ancient bloodlines seeking to avenge the dead who do not care who lives and dies for they are no longer here to see it. That is the folly, the surreal and ridiculous horror of our existence. If we are alone in the universe of galaxies as some rare unique sentient life form that the beings of light protect and the beings of dark infest to ruin from within. Angels versus demons. The shamans were all in hiding. It was another of the cyclical dark times. The heat was oppressive, the cold would bury you if you didn’t keep moving.
She fought for no one. She fought for all.