So there was a time when I felt so calm I couldn't hear anything but the sound of God working. Even the angels didn't make any sound. It was so divine and the holiness melted me down along with my bed and my blanket.
Right before I closed my eyes, I saw the sun and the moon smiling to each other. It made a gentle thunder and if I could hear it, I believed it would be the sweetest music I would ever hear and I would put it on a music box so that later you could hear it too. But, trust me, (I knew that) you must hear it live. It's a must. It was so grand, (I knew) it was like a greatly underrated orchestra held in a excessively busy, ****** town.
You know, I was already half asleep when I knew the little mice were there. Their tiny legs tickled but I didn't want to move. And then I felt a cold circle pressed against my stomach. Ah. A metal bowl trapped them. It was heated later so the mice would soon panic. They struggled to run like crazy as they panicked, panicked so much they were starting to dig in my stomach. It was too hectic I couldn't even dream of you. And then they dug deeper, deeper, and deeper, but they were moving slower and slower as the guilt they felt growing bigger and bigger.
And here comes the most important part of all. If you read this, please, please tell them what I thought at the moment. I had repeated it on my mind for several times, hoped that the mice would understand, but in the worst case, please:
(Ahem.)
I know, my little friends. I know how you feel. I will let you escape. It's okay. Go on. Go ruin me and be free.
And let them know, please let them know that if I could, I would still go thinking the same as ever.
Precisely the same as ever.