A Hater Learns About Love

After a long night of interrogation, followed by a thirty-minute trial, there was no doubt about it: I was guilty. So with my teeth tucked in my bleeding mouth, and with my jaw now wired tightly shut, a guard named Peter met me at the gate. Looking different than I had imagined, he smiled and kicked me point blank in the balls, then led me like a drunkard down the stairs. The long dark corridor seemed like a tunnel, one with no light to mitigate the end, only a special cell the saint made clear was for the good, the freedom of us all.