Friday, May 13
as he roused from his hammock and surveyed the scenes, that of plague and pestilence, which couldn't have contrasted more sharply with the images of angels, healers and peace. he tried in vain to wish himself out of that place.
it seemed to be working. or so he thought. he figured that he had seen the light, only for those elusive rays to be cut short. and he was quite aware that all these had little to do with his mastery of the craft.
"what right do i have to dream?"