It’s hard. The burning rain’s fallin, and the big grey mutants took another homested today, and I couldnt save em, and it’s hard. I’m writing this in candleplant light, in the old car factry way west. Dum moth keeps bumping and flappering round me.
Longclaw broke today, and me with it. Mutant crept on me in the dust hills where the dead homestedders was. Swinged his big steelbeem before I could run him through, and broke my way ancient sord in the dirt. Jonsno’d be shamed. I’m shamed, and I’m no Sam Rye now. I sat, and I wept. I’m not worth no sord. There’s no Just Is and Lor and Orda here. Artha, and Vada, and Jonsno would be shamed.
So, I sit here in thought, with the mutants yellin and slammin on the factry doors, and I’m tryin to clear my head like Medda Tate. Medda Tate was the wisest of all in the Old World, and some even says she was the wife of Sam Rye, but that’s mith. Medda Tate come way way before Sam Rye. Medda Tate said to clear all thoughts, and just be, and let the moment unfold.
They didn’t have this grey rotten world though. They didn’t see the gor the mutants leave behind. But I’m cryin on my paper now, I’m so shamed. The Inc’s runnin. No sord and no Fight and no Just Is, and I’m no Sam Rye.
They’ll brake them doors tonight, they’re slammin so. Pull me apart or worse. So, I’m prayn to all of you, here in the cold frightnin dark. Artha, Vada, Jonsno, and Sam Rye… help me. Give me strenth to fight them, and don’t leave me shamed. Give me the Fire and the Fury to fight for Good and Just Is, one last time, and a good qick death.