This is what happens when I let my imagination get the best of me. I can't really say much about the story itself, as I do not wish to name names (in order to protect the innocent). I am also still trying to sort myself out, not so much trying to figure out what could have been (I was pretty sure from the start how it would turn out, except I didn't want to admit it), but rather, what I should become. In terms of growing up. And in terms of being deserving of what I wish for. In the meantime, I'll continue to allude to it cryptically and abstractly. I don't mean to hold on to impossible (and morally questionable) hopes, but it's become part of my history, so I'll need time to mull it over. And I can't deny that pain can be inspirational.