There was a village built of crumbling clay and rotting wood, and it squated under a broiling sun like a sick and mangy animal that wanted to die. This village had a virus shared by its people. It was the germ of squalor, racism and hopelessness. Those who claimed faith had lost their faith. For the faithless the hopeless and the misery laden, there is time, ample time, to engage in one of the pursuits of men. They began to destroy themselves. Every person had their own side, their own facebook page and harbored in the safety of annominity, their savory hate.
Gradually that hate grew openly and expressed itself beyond the digital world into the streets, into the school board meetings and into their guns with bullets. The only reward was the self satisfaction of owning or disgracing the other side. There was the sickening competition of the number of the dead. The only good dead were the 'other' ones. Sadly your own tribal dead were the real people, the decent folk who hated all the right folks.