So, I got this heartbreakingly lovely prompt from Artemis Prim, and I just couldn't ignore it. Basically, it asks for the less recognized aspect of the reaction to Tarsus: APATHY. Because really, how many people today just dismiss tragedies and horrors that for others, were absolutely traumatic? So, this is my humble response to that deep and difficult topic. I really hope this does it justice.
Oh, and DISCLAIMED.
"First they came for the Communists but I was not a Communist so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Socialists and the Trade Unionists but I was not one of them, so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Jews but I was not Jewish so I did not speak out.
And when they came for me, there was no one left to speak out for me."
..-*^*-..
Indifferent
Jim knew that most people would never be able to comprehend what he'd been through. As far as he was concerned, that was a good thing. But knowing the psychological and sociological reasons behind certain behaviors, and actually being able to stomach witnessing them himself, were two very different things.
So the first time he hears one of the so-called 'jokes', only five years after the fact, he clenches his jaw, rushes back to his current dingy hotel room, and empties the contents of his stomach like he's just finished a three-day drinking binge. He never visits that particular town again.
The next few times, he seethes silently until he finds an opening to start a fight, the proceeds to hit the bastards with every bit of power in his wiry frame.
That works for a while – he certainly sleeps better after the fights than when he's forced to walk away. He loses more often than he wins (he's the poster child for why fighting drunk isn't actually as cool as the holos make it seem), but that doesn't matter.
Winning was never the point.
Surviving, living with it all, is the only point.
Then one day, he hears a comment – not quite a joke, but just as horrific to hear – and turns to confront the speaker. But it's just two older ladies, softly chatting as they make their way down the street of their quiet little town.
He freezes, shocked, and before he snaps out of it, they're gone.
He's honestly not sure what he would have done anyways, because he's a violent asshole, but not like that, and he doesn't really have the courage to confront them.
The words haunt his thoughts for months (it takes him that long to come across someone who gets pissed enough at him to all but knock the memory out of his head). They weren't even all that malicious or anything, merely cold, insensitive.
He thinks maybe that's what makes them so devastating.
Because he really does get why they don't want to think about the true horror of what happened (oh, does he ever), and he really doesn't blame them for wanting to get on with their lives, to forget about this tragedy that doesn't even affect them.
Knowing, however, rarely equates to understanding, and the heart is rarely governed by the mind.
While his mind cites psychological studies and rote explanations and mitigating factors, his heart…
His heart is torn apart by every casual mention, each irreverent attempt to make light of it.
Tarsus IV stole everything from him, and took so much more from so many others.
It is death, and pain, and crippling hunger.
It looks like darkness, tastes like tears, and smells like rotting flesh.
Tarsus IV is not a joke.
But they've made it one.
Jim reflects back on the list of the names of the condemned, at least the bits he can remember hearing over the screams, and wants to sob at the indignity.
They deserve so much better.
He swears that one day, he'll make sure they get it.
It's many years and far too many fights before he finds himself in a position to keep that promise.
[fin]
Alright, I do have the beginnings of a short continuation for this. I'm worried about it, especially that it might detract from what I already have here. I might post it as a separate SEQUEL, just to be safe, so keep an eye out if you're interested.
As always, do hope you enjoyed, and would love to hear back.