Tuesday, January 25, 2005


I had not thought her cry could get any worse. But I've been wrong the screams intensified and it wrenched my heart and terrified me to the depths of my soul. To hear the undiluted agony in her voice, the inhuman suffering to which her body was being subjected disturb me. This weak body and sensitive spirit could do nothing. But how could I kill her, how could I stomach to see her blood in my hands? Anger, oppression, resentment - is that enough or is it just the most rational thing to say? Or certainly this hate that divided me between vivid deformity and righteousness. It was the slime of the pit I have to blame. If my conscience was present at that moment, I am the one who supposed to be dead right now.


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