The orange mask

The sheer orange scarf falls away to reveal her right arm.
She is missing her hand.

She is sitting between two men.
To the left, her husband, stoic, serious, lifeless.
To the right, the man who cut off her hand.
She sits next to the man who cut off her hand and assumed she was dead; he left her with his animal friends who hacked at her face with machetes.

People can be taught to be cruel.

The white in his eyes is flashing, but he is gentle with her, and they lean their heads close together and whisper.
What are they talking about?
As her husband sits poised,
a statue. Nonexistent.
What does he think of this man?

People can be taught to forgive.

But what sickness of lies will eat them from their guts when they realize
the script of reconciliation?

The Interhamwe said they didn't have a choice.
To accept the French machetes.
To spit on the faces of their cockroach, dehumanized victims.
To rape women and cut their stomachs.
To burn churches.
To crush infants against walls.
To kill.

Now, I ask you, woman in the orange scarf -- do you have a choice not to forgive?