When we examine the species, we know as human life, we are brought to the certain conclusions necessary, about the very subject, regarding the nature of wholesomeness versus what is known as sin.

Occasionally, it is obvious and frequently it is to our chagrin, when as if from nowhere we are made aware that this strange truth or another odd thing is what we observe, what ever it is and it is life’s nature.

Usual consequence or oddity, there lies the meat of the point of natural enquiry.

The spirit has ordained certain lessons, we must learn, if we are to have our happiness, in life.

While we contemplate ordinary or deviant qualities, of existence, other lessons admit ably are, perhaps less consequential though they, are also facts, like the stones or trees or oceans. They too do occupy a dimension of existence and in turn may have ongoing consequence or potential, for effecting life, as we know it. So as we go on with our examination of what is strange, among the common place of life, we will grant other issues of life may effect us, and be forewarned by the spirit, lest we believe to strongly in a course while, that, itself, destines our necessary precaution.

Perhaps there is some remittance to be found in this fact, for our enduring sometimes what are life’s experiences.

Rather than suffering pains or discomfort, as one would title the matter, we tend to obey rules of order. These manifest often in the laws of the land, the laws of our faiths of our Devine or even result in uniquely personal ways of behaving that are apparently different, at least by repute from others, ways.

We have long ago concluded that needless suffering is the very nature of sins reward. For -to suffer unto life-, toward grace, -is a living being’s burden-, as I must express it, for want of other English words, to my recollection at this time that more aptly describes this phenomena.

As the subject is so elemental, to life, it has been discussed through the centuries and now forms the contents of many books, a library indeed, of the history, of the enquiry in recorded sciences.

Perhaps, all things considered, we should, in this narrative, get to what may be our unique and modernly vision of this truth, as we believe it, our self, before the consequences of recollected historic repetition, reproduce, upon our table, this very library of what we spoke.

"All this, of the matter, was before breakfast?"

Breakfast, indeed, upon this matter, might be the precepts of the Bible or the civil code of a principality. A hearty breakfast would likely be including much of both forms, of nutrition.

Dinner or lunch, likely of this substance, is the strangeness we see in one another's ways that often are seen as much of the soul of one individual or another, but in truth often are believed to be only “superstitious fears.”

As foolish as some superstitions may appear it is none the less true legendary tales often form a kernel for what becomes scientific fact or even confirmable historic evidence.

When the sun is high we may lunch upon the consequences of the day.

In the light of the day we can see the way that life truly is.

Nurtured by our early respite, at lunch we absorb all that we hold wholesome and put aside what we would.

At dinnertime we are beholding to the lessons of the day. It makes us have appetite. It defines our characters. These are realizations as of the company that we are to others.

It is with this introduction that I partake upon my tale.

Time like place is consequence to existence.

Some may have chosen another place or time but then again what time or place can truly be said to be our own choice.

A strange heaviness and haze lingered about our hero’s mind.

As he sat composing his narrative of life, a wisp, of what might be called death, reached him and like a vision of a haze, disburdening life, passed through him, leaving him...distraught.

If death claims him before the deed is done, before the tale of strangeness, is told?

What a claim, to needless bearing, would it be?

The clock chimes, its volley of life's progress and meaninglessly it falls, upon the table, like a useless song.

Some speak vainly of their lives while others hide it strangely behind a veil and profit also from the divulging. They reveal this or that fellow and what profit it to be?

Yet beyond all circumspect, a purpose high does on many of these occasion guide a beings telling.

If in the marrows day is heard the sounding, this was a valued discourse, then let our story be told and retold. Whether it is true or fancy it should not matter, for in truth within the hearing is all that is to be profited. By providence again in truth this history is true.

Death like an unwelcome guest revealed himself to the man and then as if he feared his dread, became silent. The host wondered if he dared reveal the presence of the cowl headed being, the slinking form, in corners of the room, who sometimes spoke in shivered, tongues and whose speech left him a failing heart.

Much time did pass before; he could be witness, in testament, again to deaths, tangled diatribes.

Yet if he would not tell the evidence, what authentication indeed could there be?

His reward in heaven’s arms could be his, with the warning, lest the tormenters breathe into some even fairer breast and life does unburden, yes lest the demon does go on.

The mistrust of one, for another, is human failing that often does bar the Lords angelic wings of life, from lifting souls beyond deaths grasp.

Every lock that is locked, upon an unwelcome tempest of humanity that also keeps those within, from those who on earth are the keepers of that treasury, called life, when the need for freedom, forms the activity of these beings, is indubitably an affirmation of deaths tolling call.

Every time a poor being is locked away from grace, death is free to call.

It is no wizards curse. It is no delusion of a madman’s mind. It is truth and as all truth so unfailing it is often absorbed with our morning respite.

A less nutritious breakfast would leave the body wanting.

No lunch is a poor excuse for death’s evasion and no dinner, even is less palatable then this we now will hear.

I could only think, fear the end, for it is always near. Lurking, it is, among the corners of the room, in shadows.

He...the man...I...for all intensive purposes, today had not been awake a moment when death came upon me.

Death had been stalking me, licking my flesh with its loathsome tongue, for two days already when I begin this telling.

I tossed him aside again with some difficulty but I felt myself swoon nevertheless.

What manner of sin hath brought me this reward? Was it true that I had barred life from grace and with my strength had given death free reign? Was this my sin? On this day would there be victory for life or death?

Questions like these filled my mind.

Were these the thoughts of the man of science?

Was it I who saw, into the shadows. Was the victorious the shadow or was it I? Was it after all the shadow that had or would claim me?

I unbarred the gate that some would say had kept me safe.

Many days later it was evident I had shrunk the lurking demon death, with my health.

The fear that so simple a doing could be the defeat of my undoing gave me great joy and also extreme fright.

Now in a time of better spirits, that more likely was to have a positive sway, upon our temperament, (as is upon us this instance). As to the degree, that living does heal some was I left, in better health. None the less, I was to retain, with the wonder clear, as the cause appeared, of what science on previous occasion had brought that unwelcome demon, from so simple an event, as to be beyond my recognition I could not tell.

This, the observable, was fact and it was an unnatural wrong, indeed. I was left to contemplate the barring of a frail door, behind a simple padlock and how it could indeed be true, it was that, this Strange Sin.

I would not be surprised, (by the demon death, again nor be taken by its fire, once more, to fall, perhaps this time below that where none could save me), if it were within my power. I knew death still, as in its reduced proportion it still lingered about, having evidently made a nest somewhere, about this place I called my home.

And what has become of breakfast?

Would the sign of the Savior, upon my breast, the uttering of a prayer, drive the demon from my shelter or would it still linger there like an unwanted germ, uncleanness?

I promised myself to search the annals of time for another incident recorded by some other man or woman bent upon life, making conquest, driving the unwelcome guest from life’s hearth.

This I made my duty. Dutifully I performed the task, spending countless hours bent over books, in search of a recognized form, penned by some other person also mad from the torment of death at his door.

While I worked, in my study, death went abroad. He slinked his slime and smoke through the ally ways and streets of the dark city in search of weary victims.

There would be word, heard, about of his whiles, his doings and meanwhile I relieved of he, in his cowl, with his overbearing presence, lurking about my rooms, thanked my stars his nightly visits had passed me by.

The skies began to fill with deaths doings and one day a star fell beside me in the fallen snow all-dark with the passing of feet, upon the path of my temperate world.

Then it was sad.

To hear the sounds of the fallen star brought tears to my eyes.

While the churning world went on about me the churning swirl of mind engulfed me and through it all the star shone one a glimmer in the swirling dust about my being, In the tornado that is ones life and was not forgotten.

And so the days would pass.