I cannot choose relie, though I should like to, of course. Relief is like a drop of water in the desert. It is like a tiny pool sparkling in the sun, representing succour and life - a finger-sized ocean that evaporates. Relief is fleeting and never received in proportion to the sorrow which precedes it. Every drop of relief has vanished, so it is neither decorous, dignified, nor even productive to scrabble the dust for it in faith or hope as it disappears. Relief is not exquisite. It is small and treacherous.
I cannot hold with vengeance. It is a poor motive, and though Wyatt called our ride through Arizona a vendetta, it was not so to me. It was a cleansing. When one's clothes are soiled it is not vengeance that inspires one to wash them, but cleanliness - a desire for order and the eradication of chaos. It is said I pursued revenge, not just then, but at other times, but it was more of a scrubbing of scum from a land that deserved better. And also, that ride divided us somehow. Vengeance made us less, for it was surely like dust in the air around us as we rode and killed. The taste in our mouths was not triumph but bitterness, and afterwards, we were not the same. I cannot hold with vengeance.
That leaves vindication. This is the thing I strive for with every action I take. I am dying - dead, it might be said, so I must seek vindication in advance
. The absolution of the Future. Thus I am always vindicated in my eyes, if not those of others. I consciously do my best always - what I believe is best from all choices that meet me. But vindication is not exactly exquisite. If I were to think of it metaphorically, it would be solid and hard-edged, like incised stone. Vindication is not delicate, easy nor born of joy. It is discipline, training and sacrifice.Name: John H. Holliday, DDS.
Word Count: 309
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Nulli Virtute Secundus