Something died inside of him that day. Watching that man slip away was more than his mind was willing to handle.

Paint the man, cut the lines, cut the flesh, watch the blood spill – let it come!

I know this. I've been here already. I know this taste – the taste of Damascus Rose obfuscating the truth in a dim haze. They may sweep the traces from my memory, but my body remembers. These cuts speak volumes, even though my mind remains silent.

They will be back. Oh, they will be back.

The desert dunes were like waves in a sluggish sea. While the caravan moved the land appeared motionless, but in camp the hills moved.

If I sleep – will I wake from this nightmare? If not, I pray my heavenly Father will take me in my sleep.