My life, my mind, my soul, feels like it's being pulled in an infinite number of directions. Nowhere to turn. No way of knowing how or when or why my life is. I sit outside the pattern formed by the weaver. A thing that should not be, a life that should be gone, a blasphemous heresy to the infallability of the all knowing. And so I'm tugged, this way and that. All of the circles of hell call to me, the demons, they becon for me to follow, the seek for me to give them sweet release, to free them from their eternal torments. The heavens call to me, the angels come and seduce me to their callings, begging that I turn against all of hell, to join with them to destroy all of hell and evil. But I am shunned by all, a freak of the grand design, sitting aside, watching the greater picture be woven on the great framework, and in the end I wonder why it all is, and why it is that I must see such things, and wonder... What would peace taste like.