In torment

Looking around, you feel a deep frustration and powerlessness.

All about you, there is an embarrassment of riches, food piled from floor to ceiling. And yet, this inexpressible plenty remains, for you, tantalisingly out of reach.

One of the supermarket's staff, well-meaning, concerned, is before you. She's asking if everything is OK, if there's anything she can do to help. You can see she's only trying to be kind, but you realise you hate her.

A deep, unreasoning hatred.

You laugh. You suspect from her expression that it's a laugh without much humour or kindness in it. You're laughing because you know that if you could reach out and pick up one of the heavy tins on the shelf, right now you'd use it to bash her brains in.

It's all too much.

Pushing past her, you make your way to the exit.

Something tells you that you need to visit the church again soon. You need to ask for guidance.



Part Three begins here.