Wil Peregrine

excerpt from Morgan Burning

FLYNN: I feel cold and alone, lost. Nothing here in my head makes sense anymore. And in some attempt to find comfort—staring into this empty white—I feel not holy, not pure, but unfinished and incomplete. Empty. And should I feel guilty if I make a mark? Scrawl charcoal on this seemingly cold and wasted canvas? But suppose I drew these images in Sunday school? Hung them on my bedroom walls? My father builds a new house for his family, watches me with a worried eye, wants nothing more than happiness for both me and my brother; and I—I want only to reject this family, this town, this upbringing, everything I've been taught is good and true. I fear I unleash darkness in wanting more from all this that when added up makes so little sense.