I stood there, arms, legs, and chest bleeding incessantly from the callous grip and vengeful tearing of wild thorn bushes and razor blade leaves, wishing things had turned out differently, wishing that the wounds of the hsin healed as quickly as the wounds of the flesh; even if scars are left in their wake.

I wadded in three feet deep swamp; mud, muck, and sludge forming a prison of fluidity, jailing me for sins of ...