Skip to Main Content
Claude Bérubé (
2014-01-08 06:13 pm (UTC)
March 30th, 2011.
I’m sorry I haven’t written you until now. I know you must have worried, but things have been hectic like you won’t believe, except you probably would, because you know how these things work – know it better than most. Since the massacre, we’ve been busy interviewing various of the involved parties. And a few uninvolved ones, for great justice. Everybody has something to say on these completely senseless killings, although the response is a simple one, really, altering between an unwillingness (politics – humbug, all of it) and an inability (it must be said, though, those poor charities do their best) to act.
Other than that, I would so like to take back my words from my last email to you. They
not only be dead tomorrow. They died. The death count is still uncertain and depends wholly on whom you’re asking, but we’re nearing the thousand. Dick and I arrived in Duékoué after dusk had fallen on the 28th – unaware that a curfew had been declared by the pro-Ouattara forces residing there. Gave us some trouble getting through, but I already had a contact in the town and he came to our rescue after a few hours of heavy debate. It didn’t seem like a town on the verge of a massacre, Vincent. Surprisingly few had fled, people were going about their business (staying indoors until dawn) and everything breathed… quiet. It’s a cliché and we love those in our field of work, don’t we? It was the calm before the storm.
Yesterday, we went out to do our scheduled on-the-spot report in the west of the town. The pictures Dick managed to snap as soldiers began making their way through the streets, pulling out weapons – I know you’ve seen them, since
posted the full montage like the greedy war mongers that they pretend not to be. But it was exactly as dramatic as it looked. People began shouting. Running. Even if we had wanted to stay behind to cover the killings, we probably couldn’t have fought the pure force of the crowd, all of them moving in one direction. Away, away, away from the sound of guns and people screaming. It felt a bit like being carried off by a strong current. I don’t even remember what I was thinking at that time…*
Once we were back at the Embassy, my hands were shaking so bad, I couldn’t hold onto my coffee cup.
Anyway, enough about me. Congratulations on getting to wash and dry the collective arses of the Opposition. That must be said to be one spectacular move up the social ladder, isn’t that so? Does this mean we’ll get to engage in more political discussions that end with either of us up the wall? You’re probably aware exactly how thrilled I am that you’re getting into politics, darling, but if it means we can live a life in luxury and not care about a thing in the world, then I suppose I can stand to swallow my principles. And my pride. And your cock, every time we have to resort to make-up sex.
P.s. *Not true. I was thinking: It’s by God’s grace only that I manage not to piss myself from fear right now.
Reply to this
Thread from start
Post a comment in response:
If you don't have an account you can
create one now
HTML doesn't work in the subject.
Check spelling during preview
Links will be displayed as unclickable URLs to help prevent spam.
Log in with OpenID?
Forget your password?
Site and Journal Search
Buy Dreamwidth Services
Gift a Random User
Site and Account