Indoctrinated by whims of a religious society in much the same way as reverberations claw into the mind, I knew better than listen to soothsaying about the streets. But as one oppressed, abused by those same doctrines, I came to realize my own guilt. Like a chained wild mongrel, I became rabid inside.
And so, I was enthralled by the chords which exploded from his violin; the staccato piece reflected my own turmoil. He was a vampire of a man, and controversy floated right above the audience as a dense fog. No judge can subdue suspicion, not in those ruled by intuition, conviction, and righteousness. He was found not guilty before a jury. Yet he was purged of the daily banter of the church as his reverend of a father was dead.
I knew what it was I had to do. In his footsteps (assuming his guilt), and in spite of my life’s worth of brainwash, I murdered. I destroyed my religious textbooks and all of my notes. A child was killed. And I took the role of the soloist of the concerto.