I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

Neo preferred the planning, the hypotheticals, the logistics. He
walked (this was pre-wheelchair era) to his room, rummaged through
his cardboard box, and found an old notebook with a metal spiral
spine, one he used to rip pages out of when he was dissatisfied. He
held it up over his head on the roof, then dropped it onto the
concrete beneath the night sky.
He took everything into account. He was the one who coined the
term, Hit List. Because we weren’t just stealing, we were killing. Our
targets laid on the first pages in smudged black ink:
Time. Time must always be the first.
Disease. Not pathogens, not titles derived from Latin, the essence of
illness. The name of suffering.
Death. Death must always be the last.
There are more. We have endless names to take, to steal from.
The next page was the declaration. Dramatic, I know, but challenging
such things requires it.
To all who stole from us, we defy you. You tempt the world and lay
waste to it, but try and lay waste to us. Our minds are stronger than
our bodies, and our bodies are not yours to call weak. We will kill you
in every way we know. That way, when we must go, the playing field
is even.
Time will end. Disease will fester. Death will die.
C wrote that. Neo took the pen and wrote it, but C crafted it himself,
like a song. All except the final line. That one belongs to Neo. C was
never about Planning or Execution. He was about being present for it
all, not in the grips of elsewhere. He wrote what we all think but
usually didn’t know how to say.