…one who fights for his rights, or the one who accepts his fate?
“The second,” said the Timekeeper.
“Really?” I said, “Isn’t that kinda lame and cowardly? Aren’t people supposed to be tough and demand and protect their rights? Aren’t people supposed to at least PROTEST?”
“Child,” he frowned with warning, “if a sweeper’s broom is stolen or broken, his job is to get another and promptly return to sweeping. Not waste time in protesting thieves.”
“Why?”
“Because sweeping is his job. If a man does his best at his craft and worship, where is the cowardice in that?”
“That’s not what I’m asking. How are we supposed to stand aside while the thief gets away with his crime? Oughtn’t somebody put a stop at that?”
The Timekeeper didn’t reply in words. He just gave a smile I’ve seen given to imbeciles.
In that smile, I began to realize what I was really asking. Where I was asking from. Whose job description and fate I was protesting.
And he said, “The sooner you get back to doing your job, child, is the better.”
So I wrote.
