The confessional darkens.  You no longer see the head of Popovitch.  You no longer hear the voice of the priest.  You see trees.  The leaves different colors for the fall.  Red and orange.  Purple.  The green mixed in.  A fog around them—a morning mist.  And the sight makes you feel the leaves drawing in the water from the vapor.  Their last drink.  Then mountains.  The trees there on fire.  Tall trees.  Not deciduous.  Black smoke.  Blue flames.  These images transmitted subliminally.  Shown quickly so almost the eyes don’t see them.  But the mind does…  Other images.  The murderer’s bedroom.  The body hanging from the revolving ceiling fan by a guitar string.  Nina walking through graves.  The window with her high heels.  The squirrel in the tree.  Johnny and David at the wreck the night of Nina’s murder.  Being ushered into an MP jeep.  Popovitch.  Examining David’s electric guitar.  These images flashed in the background of the trees and their colors.  Then moonlight.  A road that seems to be following the moon.  Bright and full.  Large and low in the sky…

POPOVITCH

And what laws?  What laws are you speaking about?  It’s just people getting together to makes laws above the laws.  Reasons and imaginations.  For why the moon waxes and wanes.  Why seasons warm and grow cold…  I want no endings.  In fact I’ve never seen one.  Only my mind makes that.  As one memory unfolds into another…  I’ve given up perfection.  In myself and in others.  But the last took me a long time.  I kept wanting to see what I lacked in others.  I wanted to believe they knew as much as I do.  That they knew more…  But they only had their moments.  Their moments of truth.  When I came together with them, and saw the same thing.  The same shared reality.  Even if it was only something I experienced long ago.  Some happiness.  Some pain…  And how do you teach a teacher?  For what you say is true.  It’s true as you speak it.  But then what I say is true as well.  It’s true as I speak it because I’m bringing myself into it.  What I’ve witnessed.  What I’ve experienced.  Just adding to your truth.  Making what you say true just as what I say true.  For we are both confessing…  And yes, I’ve seen death.  Felt its last breath.  But I felt nothing.  I felt nothing when I felt it.  It was just something I had to do.  Imagining death before it happens.  To make that ending in my mind.  And if that is evil then you’re just as bad as me…

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