The Deep Cut

As you leave the pavilion and walk on to the vast plain spread of bright green that lays in front of you, you suddenly feel the rush of anticipation and excitement that surrounds the minutes before the commencement of a 5 day-long sporting event. You put away your half sweater or jacket to warm up before the game, you do your best to condition yourself somewhere between feeling the sting of a chilly Sunday's morning air and the warmth of the early morning's sun, creeping in through the disappearing mist. As you close the gate behind you and go over the thick white rope that acts as the restrictive boundary of the game, you can't help but start wondering about the various conditions that will covertly govern the rest of the game. Is there a hint of breeze? Which direction is it blowing? Is there an early humidity? Will the sun choose to play little to no effect due to an impending cloud cover thus affecting the red sphere of leather differently than a blazing southern

Yesterday I heard him say my God doesn't exist. Who does he think he is? How dare he? I didn't talk to him yesterday. I walked right past him. He was dead to me. Yesterday he said my God is fake. I stared at him angrily, while he hissed. He should be taught a lesson. I threw a stone at him. By inches, it missed. Yesterday I saw him spit at the name of my God. I lured away his dog. His owner has crossed a line! Till it were dead, I beat him with a log. Yesterday he refused to pray to my God. I burned down his house. Enough has been sought by talks. I kidnapped and raped his spouse. Yesterday he cursed at my God. This time, I took away his daughter. He cried and cried all throughout the day. I raped her, shot her in the head and left her for slaughter. Yesterday I found him weeping to my God. He pleaded for mercy and for his misfortunes to cease. But it wasn't over - I brought out his son. Humiliated him.  Cursed him.