Word Count: 313<\/p>\n

A single shot jumps the crowd and we all turn to look at the now bloody pulp of our former leader. He is slumped, no longer begging, no longer lying. I step back, look around. A young boy waves a pistol of gold, claiming credit for firing the instant of life moving to death. I look deeper and wonder; unrestrained anger or an act of human kindness amid the turmoil of hatred and victory.<\/p>\n

What was he thinking, this man who had access to the world, to hide in his own small town of birth? I found something sad in that, like Saddam Hussein, returning like runaway boys to the safety they\u2019d found in their childhood. A place where they last felt real love.<\/p>\n

They have laid him out on a blanket, stripped to the waist, shoeless, knowing he had no place left to go. He is smaller than I thought he was, old and thin. His hair is no mop of manhood but sparse and frazzled and matted with blood. Some of his henchmen lie dead in the room, sprawled and scattered. Some are blindfolded as if this could have kept them from seeing their own inevitable deaths.<\/p>\n

Some of the men walk around kicking the bodies, their first chance to show years of resentment, their need to be part of this great event. Some laugh and spit at the bodies. They clap each other on the back, filling themselves up with the moment. Seeing the monster slain, still believing they are much better than him.<\/p>\n

I slip out the door into the street where people are shouting and dancing. I look back for a moment, notice the red footprints I leave in the sand. The noise is no different than protest and cries of despair. I feel it thunder and echo inside the hollow man I suddenly feel that I am.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Word Count: 313 A single shot jumps the crowd and we all turn to look at the now bloody pulp of our former leader. He is slumped, no longer begging, no longer lying. I step back, look around. A young … Continue reading →<\/span><\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","footnotes":""},"categories":[10],"tags":[23],"class_list":["post-616","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-mainstream","tag-mainstream"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/616","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=616"}],"version-history":[{"count":5,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/616\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":908,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/616\/revisions\/908"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=616"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=616"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/susangibb.net\/blog3\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=616"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}