Final Notes from a War Criminal
I thought I was a secret. A bit of newspaper that flew away on the wind. A scrap of t-shirt
torn off by a dog. I was going to out myself like this: Holy Grail! Knights Templar! A brand-new
Crusade! You would have seen what I meant by peace. Now there’s a sticky business. That and
ruling the world. The stickiest of businesses I can think of. We all aspire, but then one day we
look down and there’s a little bottle of poison in our hands. Ah, well. A toast, then. To secrets.
To life. To the Kingdom of Heaven, such as it is.