It was glorious. A triumph among triumphs.
”Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.”
Causing all those people to scurry around like ants caught in a rainstorm. And the CSWAers, running for cover like at any moment the hand of God was going to come down and hit them with a lightning bolt.
”Blessed are those who are persecuted because of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom…
Justice. For squandering every opportunity. For taking success for granted. For forgetting that fire that used to burn in their bellies to be the best. For their constant arrogance.
”Blessed are the merciful, for they will be shown mercy.”
Mercy. Not this time. Not with everything in reach. That had been his undoing, not mine. Not with the end of Merritt and Thomas at my fingertips. It had never been in their vocabulary, so why should they expect it from me. No quarter. No mercy.
”Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.”
Ridicule. Laughingstocks. So many have tried to bring them down simply to be turned into clowns. Ray S. Cornette. Doc Silver. President Schmid. All remembered not for their contributions but for their failures. Puppets. Clowns all. But this time would be different. For all my suffering, they owe me…
”Blessed are you when people insult you, persecute you, and falsely say all kinds of evil against you…”
And so they ran. Unaware that the cause of their suffering was in their midst, reveling.
Redeemed in the waters falling from heaven.
Remade in the midst of chaos.
Reborn in the death of the CSWA.