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Mr. Danya
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((B008 - Nate Turner: start))

Nate Turner had been crying. Of course Nate Turner had been crying. He was small, and weak, and he was going to die.

He hadn’t been awake for long, but he’d been staggering the short distance between there and here for most of that time. He gripped his staff in his hand, too dazed to think about it and too distraught to care about it. His bag was slung over his shoulder; it was heavy, but nothing he couldn’t manage, compared to the much heavier fate hanging over him like the sword of Damocles.

“What’d I do?” he cried to himself, making his way through the overgrown gardens and coming across the chapel. “I’ve been a good person, I always try to do what’s right and think the best in people. I don’t go out of my way to be a jerk to anyone.” He pushed open the door to the building, needing some solace from his burden.

“Why me?”

He recognised the interior, being the good church-going boy that he was. It wasn’t a proper church, but it had the features of a house of God. It wasn’t his church back home, his church full of his family and his mom and his friends from the congregation. He wanted to think “Hey, at least it’s something”, but who would he be kidding?

He slumped down in a seat, staring at the stained light coming through the windows. He took a moment to ponder.

He put his head into his hands again, though not to cry this time. Well, not entirely. He did the only thing he could think to do in that horrible, mortal, unescapable situation.

He prayed.
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Dear God · Crematorium Chapel