Savages

225

Ben peeks above the sheltering boulder and sees the three vehicles come into the pass.

The cars themselves are nothing—assembly-line products of plastic and steel, little Bunsen burners of global warming. Dinosaur carbon prints on the sere landscape. They are things, and Ben has no compunctions about things (“we are spirits in the material world”). Tries to tell himself that they are only things but he knows the truth—there are people inside the things.

Beings with families, friends, loved ones, hopes, fears.

Capable, unlike the vessels that carry them, of pain and suffering.

Which he is about to inflict.

Index finger and thumb poised on the switch.

A simple muscle fiber twitch but

There is no Undo button.

No Control Alt Delete

Ben thinks about suicide bombers

Murder is the suicide of the soul.

He takes his hand off.