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[Five minutes] The people who remain are scarred. They were far away from everything, safe at home where no evil would dare to come. Protected. Behind what, exactly? Behind time, behind place, behind race, behind citizenship, between country borders, behind God, behind church, behind the doors of their minds. That is what protected them. Still, they feel very naked. They know that on that day and on 99 days after, darkness looked into them and there was nothing to prevent it seeing.

[Ten minutes] No one touched them. Perhaps they planned it that way – to harm but not to attack, to wound without weapons of steel. Most likely not. Most likely it was an unexpected bi-product of the more direct objective of hurting their real enemies. Most likely they did not realize that even as they hurt, they were hurt as well.

[Fifteen minutes] Videos. Homemade. "There's a lot of gunfire." Protect the children. These aren't your family's Christmas videos. They're a record of horror. They're your worst memory. They're your children's lived nightmare. They are evidence of your helplessness. "Theresa, take them away." Protect the children. Protect them from the danger. Protect them from the night of falling darkness.

[Twenty minutes] He carries his implement down at his side. He's ashamed of it. Or does he carry it that way because he's afraid someone will take it from him? There is no one to take it away now. They all carry their own. Farmers going to a red harvest. Machete. Sword. Death.

[Twenty-five minutes] It's a harvest time. Harvest in spring. Cutting down the wheat for 100 days. A 100 years. Every day a lifetime. Every life cut down forever. There are no ends to the endings. Death everywhere. End of life. End of lives. End of innocence. End of neighborliness. End of love. End, end, end. Millions of ends. Death, death, death.

[Thirty minutes] Bodies stacked up. Let's measure them in feet. Bodies laid out. Let's measure them in inches. Stretched end to end they go on like a road of human cobblestones. Let's measure them in miles. Where does the road lead? A country took a road less traveled. They traveled it once too many times. They used a father's body as a roadblock. There was no roadblock on the way to genocide.

[We pack up, we leave. We're rushing to our next class. We're going home after a long day at school. The professor shuts everything down. The room goes dark. We can leave it all behind and go frolic in the snow now. We can go study for our test. We can go kiss our lovers awake. What we have seen, we can forget. Some people never get to forget. And for them we should remember.]