SHEW ME THY WAYS, O LORD; teach me thy paths. Lead me in thy truth, and teach me: for thou art the God of my salvation; on thee do I wait all the day.
Movie time again. Greatest hits. Crescents and swords and masks and battle cries and screams and “Allahu Akbar” and pleas and splayed arteries and shooting blood and trophy heads and the like. Real heartwarming stuff.
Matthias laughed. “Reruns again?”
Phil sat and watched with resignation. His stomach growled. He was hungry. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast the day before.
Isaac sat, elbows on knees, head in hands, staring at the floor, imagining his captors, contemplating the grim prospects he faced. Occasionally, he read the words on the wall again. Didn’t they know someone could very well say them without meaning them, with no intention of following through on them, of putting them into practice once they let him go? Or were they not really planning on letting anyone go to begin with? Or could they care less what happened once they had what they wanted, after their captives were another scene in their footage, propaganda for a future victim’s eyes, wayward role models for next season’s prey as they too pondered professing another faith—however so disingenuously—to save their lives.
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