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     There was a matter that had to be seen to. It was a small rebellion that would inevitably end in hearing my own throat-searing screams. The only plus was that it would also prove to me that I was not yet so lost that I could never be found. My chin tried to quiver right before the act, but I sucked up the fear and breathed the sulfur stink slowly into my nostrils and out the “O” of my lips just like I had been taught in Yoga class the last semester of my college career. I shook the checkered square of cloth in my hands. The cotton caught the poisonous air, billowing open and settling over hard-packed barren dust beside the black river. The first part of the deed was done. I wondered, as I always did, if it was too late to back out. Things being what they were in thi...

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