The mumbles of the wretched man asks "Where is my tranquil repose among the ruins of life?" "Why must it end like this?" Silence follows, quivers add emphasis as they run up his bent spine. Darkness answers. "Fool, it lies beneath you and your righteous arms, hands cupped in the manner of a beggar. The weak may never become whole. They exist merely to serve." Dispirited, the pious one erupts in tears, grimaces in fear and anger, feeling deceived. "I have lived a moral and good life, have harmed no one, obeyed the law, served my country, and never dared to question the wisdom of my superiors! I am owed a place in paradise!" Death laughs. "You had no courage, no spine, no impulse that drove you to take what was yours. You accepted the rhetoric, that you were lacking, so then you renounced your will. Life owes you nothing, and neither do I, coward." Enraged the humble peasant cried "I have resisted the temptations of the devil, and this is how you repay me?" Satan snickers. "You, a slave, were so consumed by fear and awe, that you were unwilling to comprehend fully the meaning of "Being created in his image." and rejected the glory of embracing the truth. So wither as should a servant-- may your ashes fade to dust." Whimpering, the weakling felt the cold embrace of silence and the stillness of death, accepting his chosen fate. He lay rotting, decayed, freed from purgatory, left at the gate of oblivion.