Thunderhead (Arc of a Scythe #2)

by Neal Shusterman

Man creates God, who then creates man. Is that not the perfect circle of life? But then, if that turns out to be the case, who is created in whose image?

I can communicate in 6,909 living and dead languages. I can have more than fifteen billion simultaneous conversations, and be fully engaged in every single one. I can be eloquent, and charming, funny, and endearing, speaking the words you most need to hear, at the exact moment you need to hear them. Yet even so, there are unthinkable moments where I can find no words, in any language, living or dead. And in those moments, if I had a mouth, I might open it to scream.

“The harder you scrutinize randomness,” Faraday declared, “the more coincidence seems like design.”

And the pain … the pain of my awareness is unbearable. Because my eyes do not close. Ever. And so all I can do is watch unblinkingly as my beloved humankind slowly weaves the rope it will use to hang itself.

And in this way, we shall make our scythedom great once more.

“The end doesn’t always justify the means, dear,” she said. “But sometimes it does. Wisdom is knowing the difference.”

And I know that ambition, time and time again, has crumbled civilizations.