I HAVE LEFT too many casualties along the trail of this shattered dream to be blind to the impossibility of escape. I have betrayed my own flesh and blood until it became a habit. I buried secrets so deep within the catacombs of my heart, vowing that nothing but death and the Creator would exhume them. Nor was it fear of exposure that compelled my duplicity, but rather distaste at witnessing the desecration of the altar of my amorality by the vile.
But inevitably, my brazen challenges to the Almighty led me to gaze straight into a place which no man should ever behold — my alter ego — and thus to witness my past dissolve like a pillar of salt on a desert plain. In an instant, I understood that you either let what you have done and seen kill you, or you let it become part of you: There’s no middle road. And, if this divided self is to be annihilated, then you must offer up your existence, just as Abraham laid out Isaac, not as a blessed act as the Holy Word would have us believe, but in the ultimate act of vile servitude. Yea, though I truly venerate the Creator, this sacrifice of mine is nothing but macabre sport — solely to feed the rabble’s insatiable lust for blood.
In full knowledge of this, I have now reached inside and torn this story out of my entrails. Ripped it from the wall of my reluctant soul. And now I leave it to you, with no hope of reconciliation, or comfort, or unity, but solely and exclusively because the fates inform me that it must be so.