They claim no power, their misfortunes always faults of others, grace only ever granted by the fates. It wouldn't be seen by them as mercy on my part, but as weakness, as simple acceding to inevitable moral defeat and the perpetual balance, the order of things, if I was to make this legal action stop. Even so very obvious an act of doubled generosity would not be met with gratitude by its objects, but with the relaxed expulsion of a pent-up, undeserved self-righteousness, appropriately uncertain for so long and held sickeningly at bay, now released with the relish that one must feel when letting loose expensive hounds on unjustifiable prey, always afterward with the maintenance of a full lack of awareness of the extent to which their self-imposed pain had been prevented for them by me, by the absence of justice.
They’d sneer at me, smile at one another, and gather their purloined goods around them, proclaiming, incredibly, their grand theft to have been based in kindness and equity, never their eyes to see their own greed and unreasoning, forever falsely remembering my gallant permission for them to commit high crime as nothing more chivalrous or personal than due course, than the vast, unquestionable waters seeking their level, nothing more complex than sweet, common Nature balancing her own ledgers by turning their ink into a fine mist, into evaporate, and then again,
by turning it
by Coke Brown Jr. -
as posted on Coke's Croaks -