A boy stood before you at an altar. He looked no older than twelve. But he looked.. angry. Upset. He was the lamb to the slaughter. He’d never be free.

“What you gon’ do when there’s blood in the water?”

He tilted his head, blood seeping from his joints.

“Beg me for mercy, admit you were toxic.”

He said, stepping forward.

“Now I am the violence—I am the sickness! Won’t accept your silence, beg me for forgiveness!”

He yelled out, arms outstretched with an insane smile on his face.