My walk is what it was—thought provoking. While moving, my feelings penetrated me in a way I found pleasurable. I was approached by a criminal and realized my life entire, had been building towards this.

He held a knife, which meant little to me. I had something far more destructive, far more pervasive: rage I had, and abject hopelessness… I negated life.

I fought and fought him with anything I could clutch. It wasn’t clear who was slaying whom. I only knew I wanted not his blood; I wanted his soul. And as I stood over his body, I walked away with just that.

The officials institutionalized me as my victim’s voice pleaded with me in my dungeon. And while years went by, I realized I was holding on to nothing at all, but hatred. And so I unlocked the door, for my victim’s soul to roam.