In times such as these, people should recognize that evil knows

Host: The evening was cold, sharp, and unforgiving — the kind of night when the wind itself sounded like a warning. The city skyline glowed faintly through a veil of fog, its towers rising like silhouettes of faith against a bruised sky. Down below, the memorial square was nearly empty — only the flicker of candles illuminating photographs and flags, trembling in the wind like fragile hearts that refused to die.

Jack stood among them, hands in his coat pockets, the faint light of a candle reflecting in his eyes. His face carried that quiet exhaustion that comes not from labor, but from witnessing too much of the world and too little of its mercy.

From across the square, Jeeny approached — her scarf drawn tight, her boots echoing softly on the wet pavement. She carried a small candle of her own, the flame wavering with each step but refusing to go out.

When she reached him, she placed the candle beside the others, and for a long moment, they said nothing.

Jeeny: “It’s strange how quiet the world gets when people remember.”

Jack: “That’s the only time it ever listens.”

Host: A gust of wind swept through, bending the flames but not killing them. Around them, the city’s noise seemed to fade — replaced by something heavier, older.

Jeeny: “You heard what Congressman Burgess said this morning, didn’t you?”

Jack: “Yeah. ‘In times such as these, people should recognize that evil knows no borders, knows no limits and knows no compassion. Those around the globe that value freedom must continue to persevere even in the darkest of times.’”

Jeeny: “Do you believe that?”

Jack: “Every word. I just wish the world did too.”

Host: The wind carried the faint sound of a siren far away — distant, indifferent.

Jeeny: “Evil doesn’t sleep. That’s what he meant. It doesn’t wear a flag. It doesn’t swear allegiance. It just spreads, quietly, through apathy.”

Jack: “Apathy’s the deadliest border of all.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. That’s how it wins — not by force, but by fatigue.”

Jack: “And people get tired of fighting.”

Jeeny: “Because they confuse peace with silence.”

Host: She looked out over the small sea of candles — each one a testament to someone lost, someone loved, someone remembered.

Jeeny: “Freedom isn’t a luxury. It’s a burden. You have to carry it even when your hands are shaking.”

Jack: “Yeah, but people don’t like burdens anymore. They like comfort.”

Jeeny: “Comfort’s how evil learns your name.”

Host: He turned to look at her — the reflection of the candlelight flickering across her face, turning her eyes into something fierce and fragile all at once.

Jack: “You think evil really has no borders?”

Jeeny: “Of course not. It travels faster than light — in fear, in propaganda, in the quiet lies we tell ourselves about safety.”

Jack: “You sound like someone who’s seen it up close.”

Jeeny: “We all have. Every time someone looks away. Every time someone decides the suffering isn’t their problem. Evil doesn’t need armies anymore — it just needs indifference.”

Jack: “And what about freedom?”

Jeeny: “Freedom needs faith.”

Host: The rain began — slow, hesitant drops that pattered on the cobblestones like a nervous heartbeat.

Jack: “You know, people keep saying the world’s divided. But it’s not really division, is it? It’s decay. Everyone’s too busy defending their side to defend their humanity.”

Jeeny: “That’s what Burgess meant. Borders don’t protect you from evil. But courage — shared, not solitary — that’s what holds it back.”

Jack: “And when courage runs out?”

Jeeny: “You borrow someone else’s until yours comes back.”

Host: She knelt, adjusting one of the candles that had nearly gone out, shielding it with her hand. The flame wavered, then steadied.

Jack watched her — that small, instinctive act of defiance, that human insistence on light.

Jack: “You ever think perseverance sounds naive? Like pretending the world isn’t burning?”

Jeeny: “No. Perseverance is what you do because the world’s burning. It’s the refusal to let fire be the last word.”

Jack: “You sound like hope.”

Jeeny: “No. Hope’s the dream. Perseverance is the work.”

Host: The rain fell harder now, but the candles stayed lit — some flickering, some steady, all alive.

Jeeny: “You know, my grandmother used to say evil doesn’t fear punishment. It fears remembrance. The moment you name it, you take away its disguise.”

Jack: “And when it wears righteousness as its disguise?”

Jeeny: “Then you hold your ground. Even when standing costs you.”

Jack: “You think that’s what perseverance means?”

Jeeny: “It’s not about surviving. It’s about refusing to become what you’re fighting.”

Host: He looked down at the row of lights stretching before them, the reflections pooling on the wet pavement like constellations on earth.

Jack: “Sometimes I think freedom’s not a right. It’s a test.”

Jeeny: “It’s both. A right you only keep by passing the test every generation.”

Jack: “And if we fail?”

Jeeny: “Then the next one has to start from the ashes — like they always have.”

Host: The rain softened again, falling now like mercy.

Jack: “You know what’s strange? Even on nights like this — when the world feels small and exhausted — people still light candles.”

Jeeny: “Because fire remembers what we forget.”

Jack: “Which is?”

Jeeny: “That darkness doesn’t last. It waits.”

Jack: “For what?”

Jeeny: “For us to stop believing in light.”

Host: They stood in silence for a while — two figures among hundreds of trembling flames, each one defying the wind in its own fragile way.

Jack: “You think we’ll ever stop fighting the same evils?”

Jeeny: “No. But maybe one day, we’ll stop creating them.”

Host: The city clock struck midnight. The sound echoed through the square, a soft promise in the rain.

Jeeny: “That’s what Burgess meant. Evil’s borderless, but so is goodness — if we let it be.”

Jack: “So is freedom.”

Jeeny: “Exactly. And if freedom has to bleed, then let it bleed forward — not away.”

Host: She took his hand, their fingers cold but steady. Together, they stood before the flickering candles, the rain dimming them but never killing their glow.

And as the night stretched on, Michael C. Burgess’s words seemed to whisper through the dark like a vow:

“In times such as these, people should recognize that evil knows no borders, knows no limits and knows no compassion. Those around the globe that value freedom must continue to persevere even in the darkest of times.”

Because freedom isn’t the absence of darkness —
it’s the courage to walk through it.

And perseverance —
that quiet, stubborn heartbeat of the human spirit —
is how light remembers to return.

For even when evil crosses every border,
so does hope.
And it never travels alone.