How long, Lord, must I call for help, but you do not listen? Or cry out to you, “Violence!” but you do not save? Why do you make me look at injustice? Why do you tolerate wrongdoing? Destruction and violence are before me; there is strife, and conflict abounds. Therefore the law is paralyzed, and justice never prevails. The wicked hem in the righteous, so that justice is perverted. Habakkuk 1
The old man sits uncomfortable. As far as he can see it the town is going to hell in a hand cart. Justice long forgotten. Truth a tale from a forgotten time. The man who wants,simply takes. End of story.
He remembers stories of a sheriff, a marshall who stood for right and wrong. A man above men who accepted consequences but would not accept violence to an innocent. This man wrote the book on justice. He apprehended the wrongdoer, he rescued the abused.
But in this time, in this place he remains a memory, an echo of truth.
Someone believed this man to be in a nearby town. Somewhere within reach. A message could be sent. A plea for help, he will come, yes he will surely come. He will come with perfect timing to free us from our oppressors. His arrival will reveal our enemies as the thieves we know them to be.
The message sent “RAPE!”, they have taken what did not belong to them. They have laid us out, bound our wrists, we have no choice. We are hemmed in.
Message dispatched, today we wait, perhaps we can avert our eyes from the injustice for a while. Nightfall, no answer.
Perhaps the answer is delayed, today we wait again. If it really is him in the next town an answer will come. He will hear our cry.
The days have been worse. Brother rises against brother, no man can trust his friend. Truth is, there are none who stand. No man lifts another before himself. There is a chance the message did not reach him. He would listen. His ear would not be deaf to our cries. Worse, he would not hear and then ignore us. He would not leave us without help. He would not. Perhaps it was not him.