I know you don't know me, but I hate you and everything you represent. I see no reason to hide that.
But a part of me does, in theory, understand why you feel the need to twe(more)et your own legacy (all caps), and belittle anyone who would dare to suggest that there might be shades to the picture you paint.
It's really petty when someone interjects themselves into a situation they know nothing about, and hawks blatant falsehoods in an effort to undermine the efforts of someone whose political ideology differs from theirs. People who do things like that are really pitiful, aren't they?
Anyway, I understand why you feel the need to control the narrative. You have to believe that you've been held back, or else the minuscule, laughable, insignificant nonsense you've accomplished with all your time, wealth, and opportunities would be a pitiful joke. Right?
You have to tell yourself that brown people and gay people are degrading "our" values and holding "us" back. Because if (in some crazy alternate reality) it turned out that their values were actually more egalitarian and representative of public opinion than your own, you would come across as one of the most ignorant and ludicrously out of touch presidents in modern history. RIGHT???
Who knows. If you're really lucky, maybe you'll be out of office before you go to jail. One can only hope. But regardless, history will not be kind to you.
I know that doesn't ease the difficulties of the disenfranchised right now, but of that I am quite sure.
I just hope that deep down, a part of you knows that, if we ever manage to make progress in the coming decades, it's despite you, and not because. (less)
"Well? Where's Jake?"
"We lost him," Claudette murmured. "Despite our best efforts, I...there was no way."
Dwight sighed. "Damn it, again?" he said. "What the hell is with that killer?"
"Maybe Jake pissed it off," Feng suggested. "Messing with its hooks and traps."
"The others are goin(more)g to get suspicious," Jake grit out, struggling to wrap the gauze around his leg as the other man watched. "Nonsense, if you keep being petty and breaking my tools."
"Your murder weapons, you mean?"
He could see them kneeling down by him, their knees wet with blood from both him and Ace. Only one of them was lucky enough to survive, and this time, it wasn't the gambler.
"Your words, not mine," Evan said with a shrug, when Jake finally looked up at him. "Pick me up," he grumbled, holding his arms out. "This hurts."
"Sorry. Next time you'll be watching where you're going, right?" Evan asked, as he hoisted Jake over his shoulder and began to make his way towards the basement. "As if, old man," Jake teased, patting Evan's broad back. "If I do, there's no way they'll leave without me."
"Hm. Shitty friends they are, making you leave and live."
"Ha, ha. Very funny. You should've been a comedian instead of a businessman-slash-murderer."
"The hell's that?"
Jake rolled his eyes as Evan stopped walking to let him fall to his feet. "Nevermind."
"You ready?" Evan asked, motioning towards the hooks in front of them. Jake sighed, preparing himself with a deep breath and nodding. "As I'll ever be, Mr. Trapper."
"You know I hate this part."
"Don't we all?" Jake murmured, letting Evan pick him up by his jacket and hold him up.
"Hold still," Evan said, and dropped Jake onto the hook abruptly. "I'll see you again."
Jake screamed. (less)