I stare at the brute before me, his arms raised in oppression striking my feeble and frail body. Pulsing with power he continues to lay blow after blow. The swastikas adorning his uniform coated in the blood of the genocide committed at the hands of his order. murder is a facet that is embraced in his twisted self-justified mind that seems so insignificant. and to think that on the pale blue dot that we live in, factions like these continue to fight over a fraction of a fraction of this speck of dust in the house that is the universe. slaying brothers and sisters not so different than themselves simply for their own twisted pleasure.