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On the first day, I'm walking along narrow path and I come to pass a Mosque where an Imam startles me. He intercepts me, placing his hand on my left shoulder. He impales my shoulder joint with his Tallon and gestures to the Qur'an he is holding. He asks me with hostility: "would you like to hear it in English or Arabic?" To which I answer: "neither" as I free myself from his grip and continue walking briskly. I sense that my audacity has angered him. I look back to gauge my safety and I see the Imam colluding with another person, talking secretly and pointing me out. This other person seems to take instruction and proceeds to follow me. I periodically look back to stay ahead and the person has morphed into the dress of a Catholic priest while having gained some ground on me. I look again and now he is a Presbyterian minister and stalking me like prey. Next glance he is Rabbi and chasing me. Every time I look back the person adorned a different religious attire, many of which were familiar from various Christian denominations I would ordinarily feel comfortable and friendly towards. I manage to stay ahead of the pursuing adversary. The next day I am walking along the same path and approaching the Mosque. I notice that the Mosque looks more like a cathedral and there are no distinguishable features that tell me it is a mosque, however there is no doubt in my mind that it is a Mosque. I become weary that I am nearly at the spot where the Imam cornered me the day earlier, so I look ahead and walk to the edge of the path in hopes to avoid him. Out of nowhere, he intercepts me and impales between my bones with his claw once again. "English or Arabic?" He hisses, as he begins pulling me towards the mosque. "Neither!" I say, as I painfully rip my flesh to get free. Again I briskly walk and am pursued by a shapeshifter. The third and final day I am walking along the narrow path. I have come to expect confrontation as a permanent obstacle. I consider crossing the road to avoid the ordeal, which would be out of my way and slow me down. Then I think to myself "why should I". Why should I make an alteration to my life and routine for such evil? Instead I march fearlessly towards the usual spot. Sure enough, he jumps out hoping to scare me, but I was expecting him. But before he can insert his claw, like a true martyr I offer my shoulder to him with arrogance and willingness to suffer the pain. This robbes him of much satisfaction as latches on. "Which will it be, English or Arabic?" He asks with malice. I look straight into his black eyes and calmly say "of that book I will hear neither, nor any other tongue".

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I was being repeatedly buried alive in a glass top coffan,the last thing i remember before i woke is being dug up by men in suits with black hoods draged into a large black car .we drove really fast we stoped they drug me from the car never saying a word to me ,we where in an air strip i think as they forced me into a plane and into a coffan that was already there,i fiught and fought as they struggle to put the glass top on it knocking a hood off one of the men . The glass top was fasend on as i filled with dispair they all laughed as if they could tell what i was fellingand the man without athe hood was so filled with joy and said it was about time he git to do something so hanus

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