(no) rest for the wicked.

There is no rest for the wicked, and yet they sleep, well rested. We receive their wrath. Their abuse. Their inhumanness. “Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?” and the answer is yes, you do. 

Then you look in the mirror and lie to yourself. 

You’re not a good person. 

The gods knew not to give me the power to curse or hack computers or throw hands because I’d ruin lineages. Or maybe they knew not to make me a believer bc I probably could. Making them cumbersome and nonexistent at the same time. Making them regret ever even being.

So in my worlds, I can make whatever I want. Here, there truly is no rest for the wicked, and we are unburdened by their hypocrisy. Their cries and regrets can’t reach our ears. We are at peace.