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My Critique Process
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((Nate Turner continued from A Light in the Dark))

Four days later, Nate was back where he started.

Of course the game was still going and nothing had changed; what had he expected to happen? Terrorists didnít just stop what they were doing because you asked them nicely. It was a long-shot, and he never expected it to work, so why had he bothered in the first place?

Well, he supposed, he had to. Even if it was never going to work, at least he could say heíd tried. He knew he meant what he said, too: he hadnít just been lying to try and trick terrorists into not killing him and all his friends.

He snorted a dirty laugh. A lot of good integrity was doing him now. He may have tried to convince himself that it was better than not having it, that at least he could still hold on to himself, but it wasnít enough at all. There wasnít much that would have been, really.

Sat on a pew, Nateís legs were pulled up tight to his chest as he stared at the stained windows. The ghost of Matt coming through the door lingered behind him, as he thought back to that first day. He was still here, four days later, and nothing had really changed. Heíd found friends, lost friends, lost supplies, found supplies, and done a whole lot of walking, but in the end, he was right back where he started. What had even been the point?

Heíd been thinking, ever since he said ĎIím probably dead by now.í to the camera in the cave. What was he going to do until then? He was most likely going to be dead in the next few days, if not the next few hours, so how was he going to spend that time?

He didnít want to die, and he didnít want to do it to himself (he didnít even want to think about that), but just because you didnít want something that didnít mean it would go away. He didnít want there to be people at school who made fun of his dwarfism, or people who laughed about religion and said that it was for idiots, or for himself to have absolutely no confidence or use to anybody, but that was how it was, and thatís how it was going to be. The only sensible thing he could do, heíd tried to tell himself, was to accept the things he couldnít change.

So, he continued sitting there in the silence of the chapel, trying to accept his imminent death, as he pondered just what exactly he was going to do.
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Serenity Prayer · Crematorium Chapel