Pulse.

The drums of war beat in the south, restless, reckless, unrelenting. The clamour of ignorant superiority arises now and again, drowning out reason, washing over those caught in the middle in waves of bullets and blood, ever louder each time.

It doesn’t matter that the truth looms large and wide for all to see, for those who can see it in its entirety have moved too slowly, too late. Paranoia is the order of the day; racism, a widespread filter; armaments, a commonplace adornment; and terror keeps the blinders on.

It can only end in fire, and everything burns.

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