Cowardice and Courage

I don’t know about you, but I am a coward. I’ll cringe and whimper with the best of them, given the opportunity. Courageous fools to the fore is my motto, I’m fine right here, thank you very much. On the other hand, if I see someone else shitting his pants with fear in a situation where something has to be done now to save our asses, I am overcome with a sort of grim resignation, and, by God, I do what has to be done at risk of life and limb.
In those moments I am not in the least afraid. My legs stop trembling, my gut stops heaving, my mind is suddenly clear, and I just do it. Fuck the personal consequences. I don’t know if that is courage. Perhaps it’s more like: there is no other way out. Naked self-preservation. I sure as hell don’t do it with a singing heart, or anything upraising like that. Afterwards I feel good about myself, and condescend to the poor cowardly bastard who forced me to it, of course. That’s glory for you. Gotta take advantage when the opportunity offers, ain’t we now?

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