When I think of the old providence, the land where gods were megaliths and human wants were always gone the moment the chief called for blood, I think that our ancestors had known that beating hearts were a pestilence to be separated from the chest before the plague had taken hold of more than just their overlords. These chiefly warlords would murder rather than admit they hadn’t a clue. The common man was sure the score but they hadn’t the answers either, and hearts split from chests seemed better than the madness of a civil war. It’s times of drought and starvation that mute and warp the moral herd and leads them to the depths that's human where men can sacrifice their friends. I speak of humans then and now and know that reason seldom holds. All the love and wonderment one could offer to heaven’s gates will not alter a single thing because we desperately follow rulers and beg them for their lead. But how can they offer us more than any other ruler’s curse when they cannot solved the reason why men turn their backs and eyes to accept that we must have sacrifice, despite the fact that hardships come regardless of our best of hopes, regardless how much sacrifice, regardless of the leaders we’ve chose; In truth we’re truly on our own because our leadership can’t fix itself, and brother will murder brother for fear he has a better gift, and all of leaders are just men who have that most human ailment— the quality of being afraid.