A strange feeling (one that cannot fully be described tonight, maybe I'll get a nice long explanation after BEDA) crept over me as I was finishing Till We Have Faces by C.S. Lewis. I read a part where a simple sacrifice of a pigeon happened. Right when the woman walked in the room, I knew what was going to happen, and I cringed. I felt the need to skip over the part, or give up reading it all together. My mind then flitted away to genocide, and to Rwanda and other mass murderings, these people did not value life (You could I argue, I over-value life, but is that really possible?). I don't know WHY exactly, but I thought I should write this down and I will write more on the on topic later, but I want to hear your thoughts. Do you value life? Your own or other's as well? Which do you value more? I want to hear about it in the comments!
-Sarah
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