“The falcon has no anger, no rage. Anger and rage demand knowing, demand looking into faces and feeling what another creature feels. No one does this in a war. In a war, one finds what one must destroy, and then one swoops down for the kill. There can’t be pity, or weighing of arguments, and never understanding. No, never understanding. I am the raptor, and you are the prey. I will swoop from the heavens and kill you. As you thrash about in agony, I will eat your flesh, and I will not hear your ...cries, the feeble beating of your wings against me, the quivering of your legs as I tear at your heart. I am the raptor, and you are the prey. “So, is she going to be okay?” Mom was carrying a dozen eggs in a plastic shopping bag. “Yeah, the bullet hit her shoulder, but she’s only two—not even two—and the doctors don’t even think it’ll leave a scar.” Mr. Watson sat on the stoop, his coffee in a cup beside him. “I just wonder what kind of people got to bring a gun to a party.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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