I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being a displacement here, for whatever forces I contribute to, for whatever weaknesses, whatever vices I have, I can't confess sins I don't believe in them and I can't...
"What are you mumbling over there? Stop shaking the scaffold, we need to finish the Construct so that they can gaze upon it and be filled with majesty. We cannot fall into the unfinished ruins below or we will be lost. Are you not lost yourself? We are payed well for this job, do not mess it up for me."
He was standing with his arms crossed over one another, a hammer in his right hand. A chilled wind came down from the mountains (you could see them in the distance over the green hills) and cut through us both.
I resumed mumbling to myself, internalizing his threats that were now spewing from his vulgar mouth, feeling the acids rise and submerge my insides. It hurt so much and I hated it.
"I can't work anymore. I don't want any of this. I don't want the construction. I don't want the money. I don't want there to be a Construct (I obscenity in the milk of the Construct. Muck it. Muck. Milk. The unprintable words, the substitutions)".
The Construct is to be a monolith, a testament to everything that stands, to inspire all who look upon it with awe.
My hand comes down from the clouds and plucks the antagonist from the scaffold, and I crush him into a fine paste in my palm and then sprinkle the remains over the unfinished monolith.
I shudder with laughter at the sudden vision, and he looks at me in wide-eyed disbelief, and his expression freezes immortal as I shudder over the scaffold edge and fall free into the immense darkness below, still laughing, almost like a caw now, like a great crow, flapping and cawing and mad with relief and release.
And it is good.
