Before I start the story I would like to make it clear that this is a fictional story with fictional characters taking place in a fictional world. None of the people or groups in this story represent real life people or groups, they quite sincerely do not.
24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡgeQc5JMjOo
24Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtosfxgpwYm
The sun is shining down in bright and potent rays over my body. It presses down into my head, my back, my neck, my arms, my legs. It is hot and muggy and feels like I am breathing in soup. But at the same time I feel alive. I feel so incredibly alive as I sit here in the grass, in front of a large flat rock that I purified with fire, that I am using as a table.
I grind the leaves with the large rock in my hand, scraping them against the worn mortar that my friend Cassandra got from her employers' garbage. The leaves turn into a wet green paste. These are amina leaves, known for their soothing and healing properties, good for throat infections. I work slowly and fastidiously, keeping a calm, cool, collected sort of concentration on the task at hand.
When the leaves are all smashed up, I gently transfer them to the cooking pan that is filled with water. I will let them soak for a while before boiling them, in order to really let the leaf paste soften and dilute out into the water, so that all the good medicine juices can really come out.
I take the stone knife that my neighbour Aliya made me and I cut the kachi seeds in half. This is very specific work, as the seeds themselves are rather quite small and they have pretty thick edges. I need to break them down so that all the good stuff inside can seep into the water along with all the other ingredients. Once I'm finally done, I toss them in the pan with the leaf paste.
Now I need to get the juice out of a pesta fruit. Thankfully this is easy, since the fruit is mostly juice anyways. I squeeze the flesh above the pan of water until the fruit is a dry husk. I do that to three more fruits, and I put the flesh and peels aside to cook into food later. The liquid in the pan is now at twice the height it used to be at.
The last component of the mixture is the peels of the ave berries. The seeds of these berries are deeply poisonous to eat, but their peels are full of nutrients and medicines that can cure even severe illnesses. I take great care to peel them precisely and not let the seeds of the berries enter the pan. I take care to go slowly.
When I'm done all that, I use the flint rocks I keep tucked away in my skirts to light the firewood arranged in a cone at my side. I hang the pan on the wooden sticks arranged into a frame over the fire and I let it come to a boil. I stir with a metal spoon, one of the only metal things I have, and I wait until the liquid level has halved.
I ladle it out into my leather water skin. I am done. I am done making the medecine. And I can now give it to Casey, who is fighting off a terrible fever and a great soreness to their throat, and needs medicine very badly. I gather my water skin and make my way off to their tent.
I walk down the grassy streets lined on each side with sturdy tents large enough to fit a few people inside. It's not much. It's not much at all. But it's what my community has. Once, we had much better shelters to live in, made of flexible sticks and tied together by vines. But now the plants used for those shelters are too rare, and we must make do with tents.
It's not much, the medecine I made for them. It's not ever much. There were once days when the medicine was so much more powerful, could do so much more. My people were once one with the rainforest around us. We knew it inside out, and we knew how to ask for its help in creating powerful medicines that could cure strong and dangerous illnesses.
But that was the reality of days long gone by, days long since passed. Overtime, my people, the people of the rainforest, have lost much of our knowledge. Not only the knowledge of medicines, but the knowledge of how to find food and shelter and materials from within the rainforest, how to rely upon it to help us and protect us and provide for us.
Not only has our knowledge been lost, but much of the rainforest's power has been lost, as it dwindled with new developments cutting swathes from it and stripping lines through it. The rainforest isn't vast and powerful and overwhelming anymore. Only a fraction of it remains. It can't protect us and nurture us and provide for us as it used to.
I ache at all the deep loss that my people have underwent, that all people have underwent, truly. It settles like a deep, wet, heavy void inside my heart, a deep-rooted and far-reaching melancholy that nothing will ever be able to heal. I feel the roots of loss stretching through my people, through my community, through my ancestors and descendants.
But things are better. Things are better than they were before. And for that I'm glad.
I arrive at the door flap of Casey's tent. Inside, their father, Peter, is holding a wet cloth to their forehead.
"Is the fever any better?" I ask softly, kneeling in front of the nine-year-old child.
"Unfortunately, no," Peter responds.
"Well, I have a tincture that can help." I pass him the water skin. "Boil this and tell them to drink it while it's hot."
"Okay."
"Hi Casey." I keep my voice soft and sweet. "How are you?"
"Not good," they answer weakly.
"Do you think you could get up for me?"
"Okay." Their dad helps them into a half-sitting position, on a heap of pillows.
"I'm going to rub some poultice on your throat to help open it up a bit," I explain.
"Okay," they reply feebly.
I get out the poultice made of ajeni roots in my bag and I start softly applying it to their throat. The mushy paste is soft and light yellow and smells sharp and sour. When it's all applied, I tell them to stay there while the poultice dries.
"I have some faje grass that you should burn, and let the smoke waft through the tent." I give Peter a few handfuls of the grass. Breathing in its smoke should help fight off the illness. My friend Aaron got the grass from within the rainforest.
"Thank you," Peter tells me.
"Think nothing of it," I reply, getting up from the floor of the tent. We bid each other goodbye and then I'm off again to the healing tent.
———
"So are you grateful to your boss? Or are you not?" young Amy asks Ruth as we all sit crowded into Sarah's tent. There is Eric, Carah, Ruth, Tom, eleven-year-old Amy, and myself. Tom is holding a sleeping baby Sallie in his arms, who is only a bit older than one year and is so sweet and soft and adorable. We sit on the floor, as we always do, with the blankets rolled up and put to the side.
"I don't know," Ruth replies. "On one hand, it keeps us all in clothing and shelter. And the Creator knows that we need that, now that the rainforest," her voice goes dark, goes sad, "now that the rainforest can't help us as much as it used to. But also on the other hand, it feels degrading, to have to wait on people and to serve them just in return for basic rights like clothes and shelter. I feel like a circus animal doing tricks to get fed."
"I guess that makes sense," Amy replies. "Is it hard to be a waitress?"
"Not really," Ruth responds. "Not as hard as it could be at least. I can get through it. But it still feels, it still feels wrong."
"We weren't meant to work like this," Eric adds in. "We're people of the rainforest. We're supposed to go out into the rainforest and get whatever we need. And we're supposed to be taken care of and provided for by our community no matter what. We shouldn't have to work for exchange of basic rights. We should have our rights no matter what, and we should work to help our community."
"Though I guess we do still work to help our communities in a way," I ponder. "All of our money goes to the collective fund that we all have together."
"It's not the same as what we had before," Amy retorts, her voice nostalgic, nostalgic for a time she's never lived.
"You're right, it's not," Carah agrees. "We work now for the outsiders. We work to help them and to serve them. And we get our money from them. We get our resources from them. And not from the world, as it should be."
"I miss the times when things were different," Amy declares.
"I do too, Amy, I do too." I try my best to console her.
"Still, though," Tom, who has been quiet up until this time, acknowledges, "we try to keep to the old ways as much as we can. We all help each other as much as we can help each other. We go into the rainforest. We commune with the rainforest and try to take care of it, try to protect it, try to respect it. We try to see each other as the people who we truly are and not as the people that the outsiders see us as. We are ourselves and we are not who they want us to be. We will never be who they want us to be."
"And that's a victory." Eric builds off of what Tom said. "No matter how much loss we face, the ways in which we stay true to our people is a victory."
"So when I'm old enough to work," Amy begins, "do you think I'll have the strength to do it? Do you think I'll have the strength to get through it?"
"I think you will," I tell her. "We've all done it. We all do it. Even though it leaves a bad taste in our mouths, we all get through it. The sky knows that the support the government gives us for all the bullshit they did in our past is not nearly enough for us to get by. And even though the rainforest gives us a lot, it's still not enough these days."
"I guess I'm just kind of scared." Amy's voice has a tense edge to it. "I don't know if I'll have the strength to get through it. Everyone talks at school about how rainforesters are weak and pathetic and how they can't do things. And I've heard here how we're not, how we're not made for this economy. So I guess I don't know if I'll be able to bring in money to help the community."
"Oh sweetheart," Carah starts. "No-one's made for this economy. Rainforester or not. But we all live in it. But you don't have to bring in money if you don't want to, or can't. The community has your back always. And anyways, most of us only find work that's one or two days a week, because of all the prejudices against our people. You'll be able to get through one or two days a week."
"I hope you're right," Amy responds.
———
I am twisting my way through the small gaps in the thick rainforest underbrush, my spirit-sister Sheila in front of me. She knows the forest better than I do, on account of her having a few years on me. She knows the forest. And she knows how to look through the forest and find the plants that we need.
We're not looking for healing plants right now, as the stock in the healing tent is full. Instead, we're looking for any fruits or berries that might add to the community's food supply. Because we need to have enough to get by. No matter what happens, we need to have enough to get by. And thankfully, thankfully we can still rely on the rainforest to help us.
It's slightly cooler here, in the warmth of the forest. It's slightly cooler than the village in the meadow, and it's dark and thick and full of life. Everywhere you turn, there is life of all sorts growing and reaching and sparking all around us. The whole forest seems to be flowing with energy, flowing with power, flowing with the breath of life. And I feel so very connected to it and connected to all the life in the world, as I always am when I'm in the forest.
But today is not a time to simply commune with the forest, as is the case on some other days. Today I am filled with a sense of purpose. Purpose to keep my community safe. Purpose to provide for my community. Purpose to do what I can. This sense of purpose courses through my soul like water flowing through a tree. It courses through my soul and it grounds me and connects me with this life.
This life. This life is a beautiful life. Despite all the hurt and the suffering and the loss. Despite all the need and the scraping by with only just enough, despite the heavy weight of history upon me, this life is still beautiful. And I'm blessed by the rainforest, I'm blessed by my community, I'm blessed by humanity. I'm blessed I'm so many ways. I would never want to give it all up.
"So, ruzberry," Sheila starts, "have you seen little Cody swear? He does it so adorably. It's hilarious."
"No, I haven't heard him swear," I reply, "I'll have to soon."
"You will have to. Oh, it's so very cute. You can't get him to do it though. If you tell him to swear, he refuses. But if anything makes him angry, oh it's so super cute."
"It is very cute when he gets angry."
"You're right, it really is."
"I love it when children get angry. They're such small little balls of rage."
"Oh they are. They just, they just express their emotions so completely."
"Yes, they have no inhibitions. And I get how adults need inhibitions. I totally get that. But small children are so, they're just so wild."
"They really are. And it's so hard to not give in to their adorableness."
"It is. Though a lot of times you absolutely should give in."
"That's true. A lot of times you should."
We reach a tree split into three different main trunks. It has smooth bark but thankfully it has many branches which make it easy to climb. And that's a good thing, too. In the leaves of the tree are nestled a wealth of juicy aranas. My mouth waters just from looking at them.
We make our way up the tree and hang on to the branches with one hand; we fill our bags with the fruit. We take care to not take too much, to not take any more than we need. We must leave enough that the animals can take the fruit as well, so that the rainforest can be healthy and it can continue providing for us and giving us life.
———
Being here is so different from being in the village. It's all so ... all so built. It's all so straight. There are so many sharp edges and not a speck of dirt anywhere. There are so many squares. So many squares and straight lines and flat surfaces. There is so much metal and plastic and technology.
And it's busy here. Really busy. In that way, it's not too different from the village. But the busyness here is a different sort of busyness entirely than in the village. This is a sort of busyness where you don't have a choice, you don't have a voice and peace and purpose.
Right now I am putting fries in the cage - well that's not what it's really called but it's what we call it - to get them ready to dunk in oil. I finish my task in a few moments and I swirl the fries in the hot oil. I let them cool, moving to put some burger patties on the grill. The next order comes in, and it's for a frosted brownie, so I quickly put frosting on a pre-made brownie.
Orders come in and I work away, making the food that I need to make. My team around me moves busily through their own tasks. We work together in unison. And there's almost something beautiful about it. Almost. Because this unison, however efficient it is, is altogether forced, and you can see the hard press of powerlessness in the way that we talk to each other.
Time goes by swimmingly fast and eventually I can put my apron up on the hook on the wall and I can get on the train and go back into the world I am much more familiar with. I'm lucky that I only have to work once a week.
———-
"So this is for pain in the lower back," Oakley explains to us, holding up the scraggly-looking plant with long, thin stems and only slightly thicker leaves. We are in the healing tent, Amber, Justin and I, and we are having a lesson on healing from one of the senior healers in the village.
"If the pain is sharp and burning, and feels like many pins inside the body pressing down at once, and if it comes and goes in waves, that is when you administer this medicine," they continue. "Administer one half cup every ten to fifteen minutes, and keep doing that until the pain goes away. After that, feed them two cups and tell them to get rest. Do you understand, students?"
"Yes," we answer in a messy unison.
"Good. I will show you how to prepare it."
They purify the rock table in front of them using fire. And we all pay close attention as they work.
"First cut the leaves from the stem, and seep them in boiling water." They put the leaves on the pot over the fire. "And for the stems, use your fingers to peel them lengthwise into tiny strands, as small as you can make them." We watch Oakley work, creating many fine, almost hair-like strings out of the long strands. "This part is difficult," they tell us, "and you really have to pay attention. Got it?"
"Got it," we echo, keeping our eyes on Oakley as they continue peeling the stems.
"Stir the water every few minutes," they explain to us, "and keep an eye on the water level. If it is boiling too fast, take the pot off of the fire for a bit. Which I'm sure you all know how to do."
"Yes," we reply, enraptured by their demonstration. I love healing. I love making people feel better. We all do. And we all love learning about healing, learning about how to make people feel better. In addition to healing, I love working with the plants of the forest and with all of the gifts that the forest has to offer us.
"The water should be boiling slowly and softly. Almost simmering, but not quite. You should throw in ground up jako bark into the pot after it has boiled for ten minutes, in order to help the medicine become absorbed into the body. After that, you should add in the stem strands." They put in the pre-ground bark, bark that we have a constant supply of in the healing tent, on account of how much we need it. They then add in the stems, and keep stirring.
"How long does this need to boil for?" Amber asks.
"Good question, Amber. This takes a long time to make. It usually takes about an hour. The resulting solution will be very concentrated."
"Alright. Thanks."
"Any other questions?"
"How will we know when it's ready?" I ask.
"Good question, Terry. You know by the colour. Once it's a bright, deep green, then it is ready to be taken off of the pot. I will show you all once it's ready."
"Okay."
"Once it's ready," Oakley continues, "it would be served warm. Not scalding, but warm enough that the patient can feel it. If it gets cold, you will need to warm it up again. Not until it boils, but just until the water becomes warmer. Got it?"
"Yep," we answer all together.
"And remember, always, healing water does not come from the river. Healing water comes from a spring surrounded by reddish earth."
"Of course," we reply, because we all knew that. It's one of the first things that we are taught.
"When you are stirring," Oakley continues explaining, "do not just stir in one direction. Switch directions every couple of turns. And this will agitate the water so that it soaks up more of the plants' essences."
"Alright."
"Any other questions?" They ask.
"When we are administering the medicine," Justin begins, "should we tell the patient to drink it all at once or in little sips?"
"Good question. For this medicine, drinking it all at once is good, so that it does not lose its heat during the time in which it is drank. The heat also helps the sickness, and it helps the patient to feel better."
"And what if the patient is a child and cannot handle hot things?" Amber asks.
"Good question. Then it would do well to distract them using a story or a song while they drink the solution."
We keep listening and watching as Oakley teaches us, paying close attention to everything. I feel so full of love and connection and purpose. As I always do when I am healing anyone or learning about healing. I am so grateful that this knowledge still survives within us, even if it's in a limited capacity. I am so grateful that we can still heal each other. That we can still help each other. The Creator knows that we need it.
Especially since the healing infrastructure of the outsiders' is closed to us. The outsiders, they have ways to heal themselves too. They have great ways to heal themselves, ways which are very powerful. They are not like our traditional methods of healing, and are rather strange. But they work really well. The problem is that the hospitals and clinics of the outsiders cost a lot of money to go to, money that us rainforesters do not have.
But still, the medicine from the rainforest is free, it's free to us all, and it doesn't cost anything for us to heal each other. So, relying on the rainforest, we can get by.
———
"What the hell do we do?" Tom asks. His voice is saturated with dread. We are all gathered here together in the grassy roads of the village. The whole village. All crowded together at once. All crowded together as one. In one horrible ritual, the ritual of disaster. There is so much tension in the air that you could almost cut it with a knife. I feel nauseous. I cannot breathe.
"We fight." Sheila's voice presses hard and determined and confident. "We cannot let them take our rainforest from us. We just cannot."
"There is already barely any rainforest left," old woman Sallie speaks. "We are on the edges of one of the last remaining stretches of healthy forest. We cannot let them destroy it."
"We need the rainforest," young Alyssa tells us. "We need it to live. Even the outsiders need it to live. Everyone needs it to live."
"You're right," Derek, a middle-aged man, tells her. "We all need it, everyone needs it. We must protect it."
And we are figuring out what to do right now. We are figuring out how to protect the rainforest. How to protect our people. How to protect all of the people of the world. That's why we're all gathered here together. That's why we are all talking together. Because we need to find a solution, or we need to find something, something that will help us.
"Can you read the government notice again?" Joss, a young adult, asks Raina.
"Sure," the teenaged girl replies, holding on tight with white fingers the small, unassuming sheet of paper in her hands.
"People of Gale Village," she begins, voice shaking, "you have a six months notice to leave the village, and to resettle yourselves into housing elsewhere, such as in the city. Your village life is destructive to yourselves and to society at large." She pauses to take a few shaky breaths. "What's more," her voice sounds almost numb, "there will be development within your area. The Baltsone Corporation will be building an open pit iron mine in the area, and remaining close to this mine will cause health hazards from inhaling or ingesting the chemicals given off by the mine. If you do not leave, you will suffer health consequences."
"I know what open pit mines do," old man Harry tells us gravely and solemnly. "They cut through the forest, tearing through it and destroying it and causing a large, ever-growing open wound within the forest. This open wound, these large sashes of cut away dirt, wounds that keep growing, they make the forest sick and it slowly dies, losing its vitality bit by bit. Not only that, but the poisons that are given off by the mines, they get into the air, into the soil, into the water. And they poison the forest and everything around it. The noise from the machines, constant and grating, it scares away the animals. And there are so many ways that the forest dies. I know this because my last village had to resettle because of the destruction of a mine."
"If the mine would poison us," the youth Emerson begins, "then surely it would poison the forest as well."
"We are learning about mines in school," Clare begins, voice high-pitched and full of fear, "they cause a lot of habitat destruction. They cut through and destroy a large swathe of the forest, breaking the forest up so that it dies slowly."
"Exactly," the old woman Arielle echoes. "The edges that are made where the mine meets the forest, in those edges, too much light gets in. This causes the plant growth of the forest to become out of balance, and with it the animal life becomes out of balance too. Predators use these edges to over hunt their prey, causing chaos to the intricate interdependence of things. And invasive animals use the edges to hide themselves and cause destruction to the land. The extra light coming in dries out the forest and causes fire hazards. The poison from the mine also makes all the animals, the plants, the insects, the fungi, it makes everything weaker, makes them sickly and dying. The forest will be cut through into even smaller pieces, and animals will not be able to move freely and safely. Everything will die."
"We always knew the outsiders had no respect for the rainforest," Annalese, a woman in her middle years, states. "We all know that whenever they do any kind of 'development' in the rainforest, it hurts the intricate web of life. We have to protect this part of the forest. It's the only good, clean, strong part that we have left."
"We have to fight," the adult Grey restates. "We simply have to. We can't lose this forest. We can't." We all agree with them.
"Besides," young Gerald tells us, "we need the forest for food and for medicine. We literally need it to live. Without it we would die."
"Well, fuck," Tom declares.
"And the outsiders need it too," an older person named Armin explains. "The rainforest gives them good air to breathe and clean water to drink. It makes their land fruitful and fertile, making their farms yield large sums of food. It protects them from floods, from storms, from droughts. It keeps them safe from pest infestations and protects against the emergence of new diseases."
"But are we strong enough to fight?" Emmet, an older man, asks us. And he's got a good point. He's got a really good point. The outsiders and their government and their police are very strong. They're well-equipped. They'd be really difficult to go against. They'd be really difficult to take down.
"We tried to go against them in the times long since gone by," the young girl Sarah reminds us. "We rebelled against them. We fought them. But they defeated us."
A lot of the villagers gathered around agree with her. There is discord and disorder for a while, as everyone talks at once. I don't say anything. I can't say anything. I am far too horrified at the news that my people have just received. I can only stare out in horror. I can only listen to my community all around me, the community that I love, as it descends into chaos.
Eventually the chaos dies down and there is only a tense, terrible stillness as everyone looks around with disturbed, hopeless faces.
"That was a long time ago," another young girl, Gerda, speaks out. "That was a long time ago and things have changed now. Things are better now. The government doesn't try to kill us anymore. The government won't try to kill us anymore. Even if we fight them. They've changed and become less terrible."
There is an obvious sigh of relief amongst the crowd, as many people join to agree with her.
"But what do we do?" An older adult named Noah asks.
"We have to try," a little girl named Availe responds. "We have to try our best, with everything that we have."
"And how do we know we can win?" A middle-aged woman named Dhalia asks, voice soft and serious.
"Because," a young man named Raymond starts, "we have the rainforest. We have the rainforest and all its power and all its protection and all its hope. We have all its love and all its strength. That's enough. It should be enough." There is determination in his voice. There is a sense of awe and amazement in his voice. There is wonder in all of us.
In all of our faces, male and female and both and between and neither, I feel the seedling of hope, of courage, of power. I see that seedling taking root and starting to grow and starting to blossom into something undeniable. Into something beautiful. I see the way the energy of these streets is shifting, the way the power flowing through all of us is starting to come alive.
I no longer feel hopeless anymore. I no longer feel like we have to give up without a fight.
"But can we make it?" I ask into the crowd.
"Even if we can't," old woman Emmaline, with her wise eyes, tells us, "even if we can't make it, we will have tried. And that's what will matter. That we tried. Because the rainforest gave us so much. It protected us so much. We have to return the favour."
"For ourselves, for each other, for the rainforest, and for humanity," a young child, Kadenne, adds, triumphant.
"I'd rather try and fail than not try at all," a teenaged girl, Laya, speaks out. And she's so right. She's so, so right. We all cheer for her in encouragement.
"But what should we do?" a little boy, Ryan, asks. "How do we protect the forest?"
And he's right. He's so very right. Now that we have a goal, now that we have all agreed on what we're going to do, we have to find out a way to actually do it. And that is kind of the hard part. We don't have much power. We know that we don't have many resources. So we have to make what we do have work. We have to win somehow from the position that we're in, which is a practically disadvantaged position, even if it's spiritually more advantaged.
But we have to try. With everything we have, we have to try. Because there is everything to lose. And so we talk to each other. We talk to each other and we keep talking to each other until we have heard almost every type of plan out there. And we keep talking to each other until we've weighed out the advantages and and disadvantages of each plan. We change and add to each other's ideas and we give support to all the creativity of all the people.
In the meanwhile, people come and go from the group, going to go get food for the village or to get medicine or to prepare food. People eat and drink and children play.
But the group in general remains, though its composition constantly fluctuates, talking to each other on the crowded street, for four nights and four days, until finally, finally, we all come to an agreement.
———
Sheila and I are in a crowded corner of the city, doing something we have never done before. The city is so strange. So busy. So hard. So noisy. So sharp. So bright. I will never get used to it but I can bear it. Especially for the sake of saving the rainforest.
"Hi!" Sheila speaks brightly to a young woman passing by, "are you interested in saving the rainforest from destruction?" The woman passes by, not giving us a second glance.
"Hi," I speak to a group of middle-aged people, "would you like to save the rainforest from being harmed?"
"No thanks," one of them replies in an apathetic and slightly awkward way.
"Okay, thanks!" I tell him. I actually have so much hatred for him in my heart, so much hatred for all of these people who are just passing by us like it's nothing, like they don't care at all what is happening to us. But I've got to get through these people. I've got to get through these people so that I can find the people who truly want to help us.
"Hi," I ask a girl with thick, dark curls and striking brown eyes, "would you like to help the rainforest not be destroyed?"
She stops in her tracks and gives me a soft smile. My heart warms up.
"What's happening?" she asks.
"The rainforest," I answer, "they're going to build an open pit mine within it. They're going to destroy it." Her eyes widen in concern.
"How can I help?"
"Come to the village, and go to the tent in the middle, closest to the forest. They'll give you tips on what to do. So, basically, we're going to block the road and train tracks leading to the forest for as long as we need to, in order to stop the miners from being able to do any work. We need manpower. We need bodies to stand on the lines with us so that the police can't pull us away."
"That sounds like a great idea. When will this happen?"
"About six months from now. You should go to the village and talk to the people there to get more details. They'll fill you in on everything. Just letting you know though, it will be a long term commitment. Do you think you can help us?"
"Of course I can. I've loved the rainforest since I was a child. We all need it."
"We sure do, sister, we sure do."
"So what else can I do to help?"
"Tell all your family and friends. Get as many supporters to the cause as you can. We need as many people on our side as possible."
"Sure thing. Thanks so much for the opportunity!"
"Thanks for helping us!"
"It's the least I can do." We shake hands and she walks off down the busy streets.
"Great job, Terry!" Sheila exclaims, smiling at me.
"Thanks, Sheila. You're doing great too."
"Let's just hope we can get enough people."
"Yeah, let's hope."
We turn ourselves back towards our work, going up to everyone we can and hoping to have good replies. We know there are good people in this city. We know that there are people who care here. It's just that they're rare. They're rare and we need to find them. And that means going through a lot of awkward encounters. That means going through discomfort. It means going through potential attacks even, if that can help the forest be healthy.
The sun eventually sets and the blue of twilight is upon us. I have managed get ten indoviduals and two small groups on our side so far. Sheila managed to get a few more people than me. We did great. We both did great. And we are proud of the work that we did. We stick around until the street empties, and then we wait for the midnight train to take us back into the village.
"It was amazing working with you," Sheila tells me softly, tiredness in her voice, in the quietness of the fully-automated bus,
"It was great working with you too."
"Today was so strange. I've never done anything like this before."
"Me neither. But I liked it."
"So did I."
———
It's the day. The day we're supposed to stand up to the mining company, to the government, to everyone who opposes us. I woke up four hours before dawn and made the walk to where the parallel lines of the road and the train line went to the village. I wasn't the only one. There were scores of people coming out to meet us. One third of the village, everyone who didn't have to do work or go gathering. Bucketfuls of people from the city, people who I have never met before or only met briefly. We are all gathered together on the road and train tracks, numbering perhaps two thousand all together. We are all together.
I feel more fear than I have ever felt in my life. I think, perhaps we all feel such fear. But there is also this strange sort of amazement. There is this strange sort of hope. Energy I could never be able to describe flows through all of us. I feel as if all of us, here together, are exactly where we are meant to be.
We form many thick rows, rows upon rows of tightly-packed bodies. And we all hold each other. We hold each other as tightly as we possibly can, linking arms in an intricate pattern. And we wait. We simply wait.
"Who would like to hear a traditional song?" Oakley asks the crowd. There is cheering all around. The medicine teacher starts to sing the song of winter nights, which is a calming melody. All of us who know the song join in. And we sing. And we keep singing until there are support workers from the village coming to us with our breakfast.
We all thank each other, and thank the Creator for giving us this good food. We eat quickly, trying to get our physical needs met as efficiently as possible so that we may all link arms again and form a long, unbroken matrix with each other.
"I hope we can win," the young man beside me speaks, eyes as blue as the morning sky. He's from the city, and a stranger to me. Still, despite the brief time we've known each other he feels like a brother to me.
"Even if we can't win, we will have tried," I tell him. And I hope it's enough. I really hope it's enough. "Our love and our energy can help the rainforest, even if it can't save it."
"I've never been in the rainforest," he admits.
"Oh, it's beautiful. You should totally go one day. I'll take you."
"You will? Thank you so much!"
"Don't even mention it. Everyone deserves to witness the rainforest. It's really awesome."
"You're so sweet."
"Aww, you are too."
We keep talking until I can see the trucks full of construction equipment lumbering their way up the road. I guess this is the moment of truth. I guess this is when everything starts. I breathe deeply and look straight ahead, ready for anything and everything that comes.
The trucks slow to a stop, towering in front of us with their metallic flares. They're driverless, so nobody comes out to greet us. It will be a while yet before the authorities come. We have time. Not much time but we have time.
I am fed water and food by the people behind me. It's an incredibly awkward process but we need to all stay in formation. We need to all stay linked to each other. I can barely gulp it down though as my anxiety grows and grows.
"Let's sing a warrior song," Sarah suggests from her place in the line. We tried to keep her home but she absolutely insisted that she'd come with us. She'd come with us or else she'd go on hunger strike. She's too spirited, that girl.
We teach the outsiders the song of the dancing warrior. And it's a simple song. Simple yet powerful. We all sing together. Voices that can speak the words properly and voices that are trying their best. All here, together. All warriors, ready for whatever battles come ahead. And it is this song that we are singing when finally representatives from the company, from Baltstone, come up to us.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the middle-aged man in a dress shirt demands at us, fuming. He has three men flanking him on either side, all wearing dress shirts, all enraged.
"We won't let you build this mine," a rainforester youth named Mani declares clearly and without fear.
"Get out of the way if you know what's good for you! You have been told to leave!"
"We won't," Laya speaks clearly and surely.
The men stride up to her and grab her by the shoulders. They shake her, trying to wrest her apart from the hold of those on either side of her. But Laya holds on with everything she has. She holds on with everything she has, and the two outsiders on either side of her hold on with everything that they have.
All seven of the men attack her at once, grabbing and pulling on whatever parts of her body that they can. But still, she stays strong. Still, she stays unbowed. And they can't wrest her apart from the line. They can't separate her from our ranks.
They eventually give up and start attacking other people in the front row, trying to find a weak link. But they can't find a weak link. We are, all of us, infinitely strong. And we are, all of us, holding each other. And they can't tear us apart.
"We will be back," the man who spoke earlier threatens. But they leave. They all leave. We won this very first round.
Cheers echo throughout, as blockers and the support people alike, rainforesters and outsiders alike, all express their intense joy at this glorious, victorious moment.
———
They do come back. They come back with more men. With scores of men to aid them at breaking us apart. But we don't let them. We don't let them do anything.
We stand there in the cold, chilly nights and the hot, burning days, letting the weather wash over us. We endure their goons for hours and hours on end. Until our minds and bodies are exhausted. But still we do not give up. Still we do not lessen our effort, our focus, our force. We keep holding on to each other with all the strength imaginable, all the strength possible, no matter how tired we get.
We keep going. For the rainforest. For each other. For humanity. For the future.
I don't think I have ever been as deeply in love as I am now, enduring the unrelenting attacks of the mining men. They grab and grope my arms and my chest and my stomach and my shoulders and my sides. They pull me and pull me and pull me. Until I am aching and hurting absolutely everywhere. Still, with Darren on one side and the outsider, Ray, on the other, I stand strong. We cling to each other for dear life. No matter what happens we cling to each other.
"Another round won," Ray exclaims into the dark night once the men are backing away. Backing away to rest and to regroup.
"Hell yes," I agree.
"It's only been two days," Darren reminds us, older and more serious than the two of us are. "What will happen when we need to sleep? What will happen when we need to rest?"
"Then we'll be replaced by the new wave of rainforest defenders," I tell him. "Just like we planned."
"I just hope we can keep this up," Darren sighs.
"I hope so too," Ray echoes.
I take a break to go to the washroom. And when I'm back to my place in the line, the men are coming again. I hold my body tense and keep my mind as focused as possible on the mission at hand. I'm a warrior. I'm a warrior. I'm a warrior. I'm a warrior and I will fight. I will win.
Rough hands grab my forearms and my wrists. Me and the men on either side of me draw closer together, tense up our muscles. Hands grab my shoulders. And they pull. They all pull at once. But I pull back. I pull on the arms interlinking to my own and I pull them tight close to me, and they pull me tight close to them. We are one. We are one. We are one. Nothing can break us for we are one.
My arms are burning. They are in so much pressure. They are in so much pain. But still, I keep them as strong as rock and as flowing with life force as a tree. I ignore the burning, the aching, the pressure. I ignore the burning and I keep holding on. Holding on so tight that I hurt myself. Holding on so tight that I'm sure I've used up all my strength.
I've used up all my strength but somehow I still have more. Somehow I still have an infinite supply. I know why. It's because all of us fighting here are drawing strength from each other. It's because we are all drawing strength from that rainforest. And these forces will give us infinite strength.
The hands on my body are rough and groping. They are devoid of any kindness, of any mercy, of any peace. They pull me as if they want to pull my very essence itself away from me. They pull me like they want to grab me and capture me and own me. They pull me as if they are trying to catch me and capture me and own me. But I do not let them win. I do not let them win and I keep holding onto myself for as long as I possibly can.
They change tactics. Instead of grabbing my arms, they grab my legs. They try to pull my legs out from under me. But I lean back and I stay strong and I do not let them. I do not let them at all. It's hard. Unbelievably, unbearably hard. But I keep my feet planted on the ground. Through everything, through the constant barrage of violence and violation, I keep my feet planted on the ground.
Darren grunts above me and Ray lets out a scream. All around me people are groaning and crying out. Not just from the ranks of the rainforest defenders but from the ranks of the miners as well. There is so much chaos and sound around me. But I do not focus on it. I focus only, instead, on staying strong. On maintaining the integrity of our formation. I don't think I have ever been this focused in my life. This focus is more than the focus of gathering, more than the focus of healing. It's more than the focus of my job. More than the focus of telling stories. And it's great and terrible and incredibly beautiful all at the same time.
I cannot tell how much time has passed, I can only tell that my body feels like it's on fire, feels like it's being crushed under rocks, feels like it is bleeding everywhere, in all my muscles and my bones. I think probably I am becoming bruised. But still, I make all my muscles work. I make them work and I make them work and I make everything that is inside me work.
The sky turns lighter, the first electric blue of the morning. And finally, finally the attackers leave us. They go to the many camping trailers they have set up all around the road and they go to sleep. It's time to change our ranks. It's time to give those who haven't stood in the lines a chance to.
Of course we are very very careful to not disrupt or decrease the strength and integrity of our lines as we replace them. We let ourselves out only once the new people behind us have formed their own line. For a moment we join both lines together in an especially crowded line. And then we melt away into the background, ready to provide our warriors with the support that they need to keep fighting.
I sigh in relief once I am safely out of the crowd. I did it. We did it. We held out. We're still holding out.
I need to sleep.
———
We've been going at this for months. For terrible, burning, exhausting months. For beautiful, melodious, purposeful months. Months where I have felt emotions that I hadn't even known existed. Months where the lines between us and the outsiders were both more blurred than ever and more sharp than ever, as we all came together in solidarity.
So far everything's been going well. We've been hungry. We've been beaten and bruised and exhausted. But we've been winning. I just hope we can keep this energy up. I hope that our luck doesn't turn.
I'm back at the front of the lines again, this time arm in arm with Sheila on one side and Sarah on the other. It's horrible, like it always is, being pulled at and yanked at and squeezed. It's violence but it's violence that I can handle. It's violence that I have handled before and handled well. It's not new to me anymore. Not that it hurts any less. But I'm confident I can take it.
Still, it's so strange being beside Sarah, being beside a mere child of twelve years old, and seeing her go through the same violence that I'm going through, that we're all going through. She deserves to be at home playing. She deserves to be having safety and fun, without a single care in the world. She deserves that, but she insisted that she doesn't want that. She insisted that as long as there is a battle to fight, she'll be fighting in it.
I can't worry too much about keeping her safe though since I need to focus on keeping the formation safe. Still though, her standing there beside me, arm in arm with me, it absolutely haunts me.
So far nothing out of the ordinary has happened. It's being annoying. This whole ordeal is being annoying. But still, we are only standing up against Baltstone thugs and we are only taking what they've been giving us these past few months. There is violence. Oh definitely, there is violence. But it's not nearly as violent as it could get. No-one is getting seriously hurt.
I think the presence of the outsider rainforest defenders is playing a big part to this lack of violence. They're the kind of people this society actually likes. There's only a certain amount of violence that can be used on them.
I'm being pulled at and squeezed and squished. My muscles are burning, my joints are burning, everything is burning. But it's okay. I can take this.
The men finally back off and leave to go regroup. I breathe a sigh of relief.
"I hope they're gone for a while," Sarah speaks.
"Oh, I hope so too," Sheila replies. "I hope we can get some rest."
"And to be honest, they probably need some rest too," I add in.
We keep talking, alert for any sign of the men coming back or anything weird happening. It does seem, however that the men are going to stay away from us for a while.
This fact does not give me peace. I do not know why they are not coming back. I do not know what is coming next.
"Good job, guys," Sarah comments to us.
"You're the one who's out here despite being twelve," the outsider beside her, Rachel, replies.
"Let's just hope we can stay out here for longer," I speak.
"Whatever comes next, I'm sure we can take it." Sheila's voice is sure and strong.
We keep talking until we see the flashing lights of a police car come up in the distance. This is not good. Not good at all. But still, we have taken on the company thugs. The police cannot be much worse. We can take them on as well. What are they going to do to us, kill us? They're not allowed to do that anymore. And they're definitely not allowed to do that in front of our outsider supporters. We're not in more danger than we already were in. If they teargas us, we can take the stinging and the burn and we can stay strong through it.
We all bring ourselves closer to each other, holding on to each other tightly. This is, very probably, the final round of our battle. After that, we need to keep a lookout for any intruders. But we can rest easy.
The police cars slow to a stop in front of us. Like well-coordinated soldiers, the police come marching up to our lines. They have pure hatred in their eyes and disdain all over their faces. They have guns on their hips and body armour over their chests. They make me shiver ever so slightly.
"What do you guys think you are doing?" A muscular, well-built cop demands of us.
"Protecting the rainforest," Sheila declares back.
"You're holding up our economy is what you are doing." The cop spits these words out with rage and contempt.
"We're saving our world!" A female outsider retorts.
"Saving the world?" the cop spits, "Preposterous nonsense!"
"We're the ones who know the truth," Sheila responds. "You are blinded by your greed and ignorance."
"You are simple, stupid people," the police officer barks, "and you do not know anything. You especially do not know how this civilization runs!"
"We know how the rainforest runs, and what the rainforest needs." Sarah's voice is clear and unafraid. "We know how humanity runs and what humanity needs. And humanity needs the rainforest."
"You fools!" the cop bellow, "Especially you, child, how could you know anything about how the world works?!"
"She knows more than you ever will," Sheila states.
"And we all know more than you ever will," I add.
"You are blinded by your sentimentality and your emotion," the cop spits back.
"You are blinded by your greed and by your complacency," I retort.
"You have to leave." His voice is dead serious, like a cold stone.
"We won't." Sheila's voice is equally serious.
"I'm telling you," he presses, "go. Get away from here and let the company through before you all get in trouble."
"We don't care how much trouble we get into," Sarah exclaims, "you cannot make us move. Isn't that right, everyone?" We all cheer.
"Get out right now before I am forced to do something you'll all regret!" the cop screams.
"No," Sheila simply states.
"Get out. Right now. Go away."
"No," she states again.
"Don't make me do something I will regret," he presses.
"We won't move." Sheila's voice holds no fear.
"You obstinate children!" The police officer yells.
"You fat fucking pig," Sheila replies calmly.
Everything happens all at once. The cop reaches for the gun on his hip. Sheila's eyes go wide. Before any of us can do anything, he shoots. Sheila slumps back, all the strength having left her body. And everything inside me goes red. Everything around me goes red.
Before I even know what I am doing, I am on him, my hands around his throat. There is nothing I can think except for the fact that Sheila is dead. Sheila is dead. Sheila is dead. My best friend is dead. There is nothing I can do. Nothing except reap bloody vengeance.
My hands are around his throat. Around the capitalist fucking pig's thick, meaty throat. And I am squeezing. I'm squeezing with all my might. I'm squeezing with strength I didn't even know I had. And he's struggling underneath me, trying to pry me off. But all his muscles are no match for my overwhelming grief, no match for my sheer rage.
"Die, die, die, you capitalist goon!" I scream at the top of my voice. And I squeeze tighter. And eventually all his struggling stops and he goes limp underneath me.
I look around. Everyone is simply staring at me, forest defender and police officer and company thug alike. They're all staring at me as if they are in a trance. And I feel like I am in a trance. But all too soon, the spell breaks.
The police pile on to me, all of them at once. And they push me face first into the hot, rough asphalt of the road. There is overwhelming pressure above me on my back as my arms are pulled together and put in handcuffs. I fight. Of course I fight. But there are four cops on me. I can't take them all at once. There is yelling all around me, from the police, and from the onlookers. There is yelling all around me but I cannot listen to it.
All I can think of is the fact that Sheila is dead. Sheila is dead. The young woman who played with all the children in the village and entertained them. The woman who spent long nights staring up at the stars with all of us. The person who had so much spirit and so much hope and so much rage to share with all of us and with the world in general. The woman who knew where to find what plants in the rainforest, and who wasn't afraid to kill something if she needed to. That woman was gone. Gone forever.
A police officer slams my head into the road. And my whole world goes white in searing, aching pain. My head throbs and my nose feels like it has been snapped into two. It probably has been. My whole face flows hot like magma in the hurt.
I am dragged into the back of a police car. And the door slams shut above me. Before I know it, we are driving away. Away from the village and away from all the people who are mine.
———
The jail cell they put me into isn't terrible, I will admit. It's bare, with one metal shelf on one side that serves as a bed, a few blankets softening the hard metal. There is a small bathroom parted by a curtain. And there isn't really anything else. But it's clean, and nobody bothers me.
But the problem is that I'm alone. I'm so alone and all my thoughts are flooding through me absolutely out of control. They're out of control and all I can do is drown in them. All I can do is let them overwhelm me like a hurricane ripping through my mind. There is no one to talk to. No-one to give me comfort. No-one to ease my grief and my sorrow and my anxiety.
I think about Sheila, about how much I miss her, about how empty I am without her. About how much I'm sure everyone misses her. I think about how horrific and unjust her death was. About how much the world will miss her kind, passionate, amazing presence. I think about how it's unlikely that my people could hold a funeral for her, given that they still have to fight the mining company. And I think about how grief must weigh heavy on everyone's hearts.
I think about whether my people are still able to fight. I wonder what the police have done. I wonder if they have killed anyone else. I wonder if they've mowed down our ranks one by one until there were none of us left to oppose them. I think about how determined we were to fight no matter that the cost was. I wonder if we are still fighting, if we are still able to stay strong, if we are still protecting the rainforest against whatever the police and the company are doing to us.
I think about what will happen to me, after my trial is over. I murdered a police officer. Well, murder is not the right word. But I definitely did kill a police officer. And multiple witnesses saw it. I'll be going to jail for certain, there is no doubt about that. But will I be in jail forever? Will I ever see my people again, will I ever get to go home again? Will there even be a home left for me to go back to once everything is said and done?
I don't know. I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. All I do know is that I can hope. And I can pray.
So, sitting on the ground with my head looking up towards the Creator, I do pray. I pray that Sheila has been returned to the rainforest from which she came. I pray that she has gone back to her origins, and is part of the flow of life within the rainforest now. I pray that my people can win against the government and the mining company. I pray that we can keep the rainforest safe. I pray that no-one else had to die from the invaders' wrath. And I pray for myself, too. I do pray for myself, but mostly I pray for my people. That they're safe. That they're fighting. That they're winning. And I pray for the rainforest.
I think the Creator can hear me. Even though there is thick concrete between myself and the sky, I am sure that the Creator can hear me, that They can see me, that my prayers will not go unanswered. Praying gives the world strength. It gives the Creator strength. It gives the Creator strength so that the Creator can give us all strength and help us. Praying puts cosmic energy out into the world, that helps the world to be safe and healthy, that helps the world to commit revolution.
So I am helping my people. Even if I can't be on the front lines with them right now, I am still helping them.
"Terry La Croix, you are called for the evening meal," a rough voice outside the door says, pulling me out of my thoughts for a moment. I get up as my cell is opened and guards escort me to the eating area.
The room is large. There are tables all over, each table lined by two benches on either side. There is a lineup of people with trays getting food, snaking around the corner along the wall. I join the lineup, and get a heap of the strange brown mush that everyone else is getting. I go to a table and put a spoonful in my mouth. The food is strange and bland, but that's okay. I don't mind.
"What's your name?" the girl beside me asks in a cheerful voice.
"Terry. What's yours?"
"Bright. So what are you in here for? If you want to talk about it, that is."
———
Today is my court date. I am taken in chains to the polished, carved, wooden room that makes up the court. All the walls are made of aesthetic, expensive wood, and so are the high tables with carvings on their sides. The floor has a thick green carpet and all the chairs have thick, green padding that seems very plush and very comfortable. I have never been somewhere even resembling this strange place. It unnerves me.
My wrists are shackled together. My feet are shackled together. There is a collar around my neck attatched to two chains held on either side by a guard. I feel so very humiliated standing like this in a room full of people. People staring impassionately on as I am having one of the worst times of my life.
"Terry La Croix," the judge speaks coolly, "you are here in front of the court facing charges on the assault and murder of an officer of the law. How do you plead?"
I am pulled to the testimony stand. And I stand there. I look out at all the people in the court. I look at the judge and the police officers. I look at all the members of the public crammed into their chairs, eager to get a front row seat to all the drama and the intrigue that this trial brings. I look at all the cameras and news reporters here, no doubt ready to broadcast my words onto live TV. It's not often at all that something like this happens.
I think of how strange I must look with my bandaged nose and my bruised body and my very many chains. But I keep myself calm. I keep myself cool and collected as I turn to address the crowd.
"I killed a police officer. That is true. But the police officer killed my best friend, he killed a community member, he killed a woman who was standing up for her people and for your people as well. Sheila Wexley was a beautiful, radiant soul. And we are not able to even have a funeral for her. We are not able to have a funeral for her because your companies are invading onto our land and seeking to destroy all that both of out peoples need." My voice is clear and does not shake. I am so overcome with emotion that I do not know how my voice does not shake. But I keep my gaze steady on everyone in the room. And I make sure they know how dead serious I am.
"The rainforest is sacred," I continue. "It's not just sacred to my people, though it is sacred to my people. But it is sacred to everyone who needs air to breathe, everyone who needs good, pure water to drink, everyone who needs good, rich soil to grow food. It is sacred to everyone who needs protection from storms and floods. It is sacred to everyone who needs to live.
"Our rivers, our water, our trees and shrubs and herbs, our rocks and earth and animals. They all protect us. They all protect us all and they provide for us all. And not only that, but they are the bedrock of my peoples' identity.
"My people need the rainforest to soothe their spirits, minds, and hearts. They need the rainforest in order to give them teachings and guidance. The rainforest brings us all together. It brings us all together and it makes us who we are. We go to the rainforest for food, because what your government and what your economy gives us is not enough for us to survive. We go to the rainforest for healing and medicines, for we are shut out by your fancy medical systems.
"I am a traditional healer. I cure all the sicknesses and injuries of my people. I help whoever comes to me for help. And I do it all free of charge. I do it free of exchange. I do it free of all attachments, so that everyone who needs healing can come to me for healing and can get what they need. This is the way of our people. This is the way it has been since time immortal. When we help each other, we do not demand anything in return. We simply help each other to help each other.
"And all that is possible because of the rainforest. Without its providence I would not be able to cure anyone or to ease anyone's bodily, mental, and spiritual suffering.
"The mine will destroy the rainforest. There is no other way to it. The mine will simply destroy the forest we all need to live. It will create a large, gaping, open wound in the rainforest, a wound that will only grow and grow and destroy the forest all around it. It will poison the water, the soil, and the air, and will scare away the animals with its noise. Only one piece of healthy, intact rainforest is left and we all dearly need it.
"Your people are filled with greed in your hearts. You want more and more and more luxury. You want more and more and more wealth. All you see is how much you want, how much you want to take. Your companies want power and they want to rule over their workers and do whatever they want. Your governments are the slaves to those companies, and they aid the owners of the companies in doing whatever they can to have more wealth and have more power and to bring more destruction into the people and the lands.
"You cannot see beyond your own greed to see all the people that you're killing, to see all the places that you're killing, to see all the lives you are destroying and leaving to rot. The lives of rainforesters and outsiders alike are being harmed and destroyed by your greed and your unending hunger. But you don't see the destruction that you bring. You don't see the death that you bring to so, so many people.
"All you see is your desire to have more. And it's all fake. All that you chase after, all that you long for, all that you hurt the people and the land in order to get, it's all fake. All your material items and technology doesn't have life in it. It doesn't have spirit in it.
"But the people have spirits. The people and the land and the air and the water, the plants and the rocks and the animals and the fungi, they all have spirits. They all have life. You are destroying that life, killing that life, to create things that do not have spirits, that do not have lives.
"Your greed knows no bounds but our love knows no bounds either. The love that all the hurt people, that all the marginalized people, rainforester and outsider alike, have for each other, the love that we share, knows no bounds. The love that we have for the land, the love that the land has for us, knows no bounds. And that love will never die. No matter how much you kill us or how much you kill the land, all the love will never die, all of our spirits will never die.
"And we will triumph. We will come up triumphant. No matter what you do to us or how much you beat us down, we will come up triumphant, eventually, and all your wealth and all your luxury and all your power systems will fall. They will all fall and everything that is sacred will become free again.
"My people will fight, and our supporters will fight. We will fight with everything that we have, so that you cannot win. And all that fighting and all that trying and all those battles both physical and mental and spiritual, they will mean something one day. They will guide us to victory one day. Things will get better, and hope will prevail, no matter what you do to any of us. No matter what you do to me.
"So if you want to jail me, go ahead and jail me. I killed one of the enforcers of your power and your hegemony. I killed one of the enforcers of your rule and your wealth. And if you want to jail me for that, go ahead. But you will also receive your just rewards for all the death and the destruction that you have caused.
"Sheila's spirit has retuned to the rainforest, the place where all her energy flowed from. And my own spirit will meet her when it's time."
I finish my speech and look right at the cameras. They are all trained directly on me. All the reporters are gaping at me with wide eyes. Journalists are scrambling to write down notes.
All the people in the courtroom, who came here to watch the proceedings, are also staring at me with wide eyes. They look dazed, amazed. Many of them are holding their hands up towards me, recording me with their bracelets and rings and other tech jewelry.
I meet all their eyes with solemn, determined eyes of my own.
"So you plead guilty then?" The judge asks after a long while of silence.
"I guess I do," I reply.
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