Matthew 17: 15, 18

Throw yourself.     I see them all, angular and twisted like a kaleidoscope. People walking, people buying, people eating, people chatting. But their wallets are bigger than their hearts, and their mouths never seem to end, whatever they do. Rotate the glass, and here I am, not a master, not a lover, not a merchant, not a friend. Just look away; keep pruning olive trees at midnight, without once paying attention to the boy in the

Throw yourself.      Clams are hard to open but worth it if you like pearls. Pull, cut, pull, cut, pull, cut. I don't want these sandals. All I want is a warm hearth with a dancing flame and a cherished name. All I want is nobody, because at least nobody can't ignore you. And the flame grows higher, and it laps at your skin until

Throw yourself into the fire.      Hold your nose because it will start to smell. I'm doing it. I'm jumping in. Like hot knives it pierces and smolders and chars and burns. Did someone light a cigarette because it's starting to get

[Someone places two hands upon his head.]

What are they doing. What are they saying. Please stop. I'll jump, I swear I will. You don't even have to look at me twice to know

[The man pats him on the shoulder. Then he turns and leaves.]

In seventeen years nobody has ever--what did you do? How did you stop it?

[The boy feels the scars and taps his burns.]

Nobody has ever--who was that man? It's over. Stay, please. Don't leave me. Please stay.