It appeared that the combat of his physiology with religion might ultimately deprive him of sanity. Time and again, he sank deep into the guilt that h...d been bred into his life for the first eighteen years. He could actually see the sadness on his mother's face should she ever learn of his inherent lust. The cycle of grace, lust, forbidden pleasure at his own hand, despair for his imperfection, growing guilt, confession, penance and repair of his self-concept became an endless treadmill upon. Rather than covering for one another, he had followed his friend to the hatch. She moved with an agility born out of many such moments. Her elbow violently crashed into the face of her attacker. The nauseating crunch of a broken nose preceded the thug’s scream by a nano-second. She jammed her gun under his chin as he spat out blood and pulled the trigger. She stepped into the dark of the stairwell as he hit the ground. When she was sure no one else was waiting, she returned down the stairs. *. More

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