At what point does our innocence leave us, and by doing so are we opened to sin? One might argue that it begins the moment we are born, for only the Savior can be purely without it. If this is so, is that to say that every newborn babe is damned at birth? And what of the other side of the coin; does sin truly begin when we’ve grown consciousness of it? For how can you sin if you don’t even know the difference between right and wrong? And by that standard, where do those with mental illnesses come in? How exactly is sin measured? Does it shift from person to person? This theory seems to be the most likely of them all.

William sat at the bar, absently writing out a chemical formula in the condensation on his beer glass. The sun shone through the old, stained glass windows, colouring everyone in the room a spectrum of different colours. William stared at the sliver of blue the sun painted onto his hand, and when he moved his hand away, it was back to the natural dark colour.

Matthew’s face throbbed when he awoke. He spent the morning in bed, hugging a pillow to his chest. He considered phoning Monsignor Father Rea to take over his sermon on Sunday. Matthew had no desire to sit down and start writing his sermon. Words left him completely. But he told himself that words would come back once he got out of bed. “Get up and dressed,” Matthew said to himself.

They eyed each other. Lee worried the man would recognize him. “You’re Norman Bennell?” Lee asked. He eyed the youth’s green hair, and the blond roots showing beneath it.