I find out a lot about myself by sleeping. Dreams, they are who I am when I’m too tired to be me.

     —  Jarod Kintz, This Book is Not for Sale.

       In the midst of backing out and striving forward, what goes through your brain's nerves in the heat of the moment? The nerves, uncontrollably spazzing and whizzing around to figure out-What have you done? Why? When? How? Could the possibilities of a simple answer satisfy your conscience or will a more complex answer, a chaos waiting to happen, control the emotions? 

       He deserves these thoughts in his mind. He had no right to be there. They made it clear, perfectly clear. They had taken his bags, only one to save the trouble, and kicked him out. It was willing, no hands were involved although tempted- he had no right to do that also. He absolutely had no right to go and do what he'd done. It was a deceitful act, something ungodly, a total act of evil. The pressure was up, his walls were down and he just slipped. Of course, it was actually an act of saving. He helped no one but himself and he planned to keep it that way. 

       The angel had asked, " Is it because you were jealous? " Obviously not, he thought, and for the court to ask him to come to the podium and actually speak was beyond him. As if it was some stupid presentation. Purely unimaginable. Purely unkind. His cell was cold and dank. No sound besides the cries of the innocent and the bashing of the dark against caged fear. He wasn't supposed to be here, either. It smelled of urine and he probably couldn't count on all ten fingers the number of stains in his supposed bed. Amongst a heavy heart and a heavy mind, the only thing he could think about whether this was heaven or hell.


Where did it all start?