06-18-2014, 07:38 PM
Jensen held the man's gaze even as it pierced through him. He'd been the one to stride through a biker gang surging with the confidence of the Gift. Yet he recoiled from the gaze of one man drinking a beer.
It made little sense to the rational mind, but Jensen never claimed rationality. He claimed faith.
As his response continued, a profound sadness welled upward. This man was lost at sea, barely keeping his head above water.
But he was right about the world. Earth was an infested bedsore of what it should have been. Humanity was the wound, sin the infection. It festered and festered until putrefied men boiled out. Men so lost they didn't recognize their own depravity.
He enjoyed killing bad people. Jensen's gaze softened the concentration imposed by the Gift. He guessed all too much that Hood enjoyed killing anyone he found to deserve death; however, the problem was, everyone deserved brutality. What was the difference between a liar and a thief? Would stealing a few dollars demand the same justice as stealing millions? What if the dollar was taken from the hand of a starving child and the millions snatched from the accounts of industry? Who decided what magnitude of crime demanded death by Hood's hands? Hood himself? He was as flawed as the rest of the world, as flawed as Jensen and Connor, where was the morality that consolidated judge, jury, and executioner and dispensed with the concept of fair treatment under law? Who's law? Mankind's? God's? Hood's?
Jensen wanted to weep for the nature of the world. For the man at the table who sipped his beer and gauged hope was gone.
Hope was not gone.
Jensen nodded his head. He put the card in a pocket as an afterthought, but it was the helmet that he reached for.
"I am not willing to kill for it."
Every man, Jensen included, had to decide where the line was drawn. Jensen knew his. He would not waver no matter how siren the logic. He had to believe there was hope. To believe in The Gift.
His gaze remained soft, his voice gentle, but he leaned over the table to share the words without making Hood strain to hear them. He was less afraid of Hood now. "You're right about redemption. We're beyond saving the world, but I won't stop trying anyway."
He held the man's gaze. Light blue eyes and fair haired, Hood might have been a handsome man if he weren't draped in despair. "If you find yourself in need of me, for any reason, I will come."
With that, he stretched upright, secure in himself, and dipped a nod at Charlene. His drawl bellowed to her, "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."
He turned to go.
It made little sense to the rational mind, but Jensen never claimed rationality. He claimed faith.
As his response continued, a profound sadness welled upward. This man was lost at sea, barely keeping his head above water.
But he was right about the world. Earth was an infested bedsore of what it should have been. Humanity was the wound, sin the infection. It festered and festered until putrefied men boiled out. Men so lost they didn't recognize their own depravity.
He enjoyed killing bad people. Jensen's gaze softened the concentration imposed by the Gift. He guessed all too much that Hood enjoyed killing anyone he found to deserve death; however, the problem was, everyone deserved brutality. What was the difference between a liar and a thief? Would stealing a few dollars demand the same justice as stealing millions? What if the dollar was taken from the hand of a starving child and the millions snatched from the accounts of industry? Who decided what magnitude of crime demanded death by Hood's hands? Hood himself? He was as flawed as the rest of the world, as flawed as Jensen and Connor, where was the morality that consolidated judge, jury, and executioner and dispensed with the concept of fair treatment under law? Who's law? Mankind's? God's? Hood's?
Jensen wanted to weep for the nature of the world. For the man at the table who sipped his beer and gauged hope was gone.
Hope was not gone.
Jensen nodded his head. He put the card in a pocket as an afterthought, but it was the helmet that he reached for.
"I am not willing to kill for it."
Every man, Jensen included, had to decide where the line was drawn. Jensen knew his. He would not waver no matter how siren the logic. He had to believe there was hope. To believe in The Gift.
His gaze remained soft, his voice gentle, but he leaned over the table to share the words without making Hood strain to hear them. He was less afraid of Hood now. "You're right about redemption. We're beyond saving the world, but I won't stop trying anyway."
He held the man's gaze. Light blue eyes and fair haired, Hood might have been a handsome man if he weren't draped in despair. "If you find yourself in need of me, for any reason, I will come."
With that, he stretched upright, secure in himself, and dipped a nod at Charlene. His drawl bellowed to her, "Pleasure to meet you, ma'am."
He turned to go.