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“You’re saying that someone wiped out our history to stop us from repeating it?”
folder, hands
Juliette’s eyes did the crying, the rest of her too numb to shake or sob.
Book.
Killing a man should be harder than waving a length of pipe in their direction. It should take long enough for one’s conscience to get in the way.
“All our hope, the accomplishments of those before us, what the world can be like, that’s our Legacy.”
“And the bad things that can’t be stopped, the mistakes that got us here, that’s the past.”
“And what does this difference mean? What do you think it means?” “It means we can’t change what’s already happened, but we can have an impact on what happens next.”
“And this”—Lukas turned and rested one hand on the thick book, then continued, unbidden—“the Order. This is a road map for how to get through all the bad that’s piled up between our past and the future’s hope. This is the stuff we can prevent, that we can fix.”
It turned out that some crooked things looked even worse when straightened. Some tangled knots only made sense once unraveled.
Art is influence, and it works both ways. The audience gasps, and the storyteller knows they struck the right note. They laugh, and the storyteller knows their wit landed a blow. They snooze, and the storyteller recalibrates. It is the joy of theater and live music that the audience plays a role in the energy received, absorbed, augmented, transmitted, transmogrified. Any live performer will tell you this. Any live audience will agree.
