Chapter 2

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• High Charity   Chapter 3

  "Oh honey," Miss Cassidy said, moving to sit at the foot of his bed. "That's just the delirium talking. You'll recover soon. You know who you are in there." She moved to tap his forehead, but John shied away."I've been pretty out of it before, but I feel like I usually do," John said, trying—unsuccessfully—to modulate the pitch of his voice to his normal range. "You're probably mistaking me for someone else. It happens a lot." He tried to give these women an out to their misunderstanding. He's made a fool of himself plenty of times to know that genuine mistakes happen, or i

• High Charity   Chapter 2

  Sleeping represented beauty to John. The bed, warming her charge, a womb providing the nourishment of dreams, standing strong against the movements of sleep, waked by the contractions of human instincts; though he rarely thought of those without beds—since those afforded privileged rarely think of it—those who couldn't sleep peacefully from poverty, war, relationships, homework, everything really; so no person truly sleeps, only chases an ideal; so John only though it appropriate to relish in the task of sleeping: snoozing alarms waking him, no matter digital or circadian, only for him to return to dreams, just to experience awaking 5 minutes later; and that constant cyc

• High Charity   Chapter 1

  Men employed torture as a means to gain intelligence. Maybe it could be used the other way, as a means to put intelligence in. A strange torture it is, as John found out. His professor subjected him to this, a torment only nuns and monks subject themselves to: sitting in complete silence, ridding himself of all worldly desires, in hopes of reaching a higher form of understanding, or in John's case, for good grades. Maybe they were similar in their pursuits. Maybe they weren't. He certainly didn't think so.