Alma 54

The new year began and Ammoron sent messengers to Moroni requesting a prisoner swap. Moroni laughed out loud because he was sick of paying for prisoner upkeep and needed his own troops back for future warfare. Besides, the Lamanites had taken women and children, the Nephites not. How could he finesse getting them back when all he had was men to bargain with? Maybe some reverse psychology.

So he sent a letter that read thus:

Look Ammoron, I’m writing you about this war your dead brother started and you’re determined to continue.

I could say a few words about God’s justice and how his sword hangs over you, ready to lop your head off if you don’t withdraw from our lands.

I would, that is, but what’s the point? You’re too ignorant to understand what I’m talking about. If you weren’t, I’d add that the jaws of hell are chomping at their bit, just waiting to chew you and your brother up if you don’t get humble and pacify your brutal tempers. Oh, and withdraw from our lands.

But you’ve got a pattern. We’ve all seen it. You hate us and God so you’ll persist. I get it.

We’d be nice and deal with you if you’d withdraw from our lands and fix your attitude. But I don’t expect that. You’ll just keep pulling God’s wrath down like a rope on a bucket of rocks, tipping it on your head and crushing you. Real smart.

If you don’t withdraw from our lands—did I say that already?—I’ll sic my armies on you like a Labrador on a wounded rabbit. Because nothing will stop us from getting our land back in the name of God and our particular religion, both of which you snub all day every day.

But even mentioning any of this seems a waste of time. You’re not just going to hell—it’s your hometown.

So, I have no intention of exchanging prisoners with you unless it’s a whole family of ours for any man of yours. That I’d do.

If you turn this down, I pity you, fool. I will arm every breathing creature I can find and send them to hunt you down and slash and burn and stomp on what’s left—all of it really ours in the first place, not that you care. We will wipe the world clean of you, dipping the mop in a bucket of your own blood.

You have no idea how mad you’ve made me. You attack, we defend. But it won’t be that way next time.

Sincerely,

Moroni

Nephite Boss

Ammoron was livid. He wrote this back:

You killed my brother. I’m king because of that. No one could be better poised to exact revenge. I don’t give a rat’s ass about your threats.

You’re the traitors. You stole from my ancestors every right you now claim for yourselves. So if you’ll concede that, hand over all your weapons, and pledge eternal loyalty to us, we’ll call all this off.

But, surprise: I’ll accept your request. I’d rather feed my soldiers than your howling infants and cowering girl-cattle.

We need lots of food to bulk up our men. Because you will be our slaves or our lunch. That I vow.

Re: God, I’m so sick of you bringing up religion. What a pathetic ploy. We don’t believe in him and you don’t know him. But if he exists, we’re as much his children as you are. And if there’s a devil and a hell, I’m sure you’ll find that out, since murderers go there. That’s what you always say.

But enough. Jeez. Stick with the subject. I am Ammoron (no puns please—I’ll kill you for that). I came from Zoram and now I’m dyed-in-the-wool Lamanite. This war is about my people and how you’ve screwed them for centuries. Don’t you dare talk about “rights” to me.