I was furious at my parents for grounding me.  I was furious at them for discovering my plans.  But most of all, I was furious at myself for not taking out the drawing out of my pocket.  Had I just thrown it away I wouldn't be in this mess.  

I was furious because I couldn't see my friends again.  But I was determined to go behind their backs, so right in the middle of the night, while everyone was asleep, I carefully put my clothes on and crept out of my window.  I was bound and determined to see my friends again and see what this "sacrifice" was all about.

I never made it there.  For I had been hit by a car while walking to my friends' house.  That was the last thing I remember before blacking out.  There was no warning: one minute, I had been walking, minding my own business; the next, nothingness.  There was a spark of intense pain, then nothing.  

When I woke up, I was startled to be looking up into a man's face.  The man was young, with long hair and kindly eyes that leaped with life, love, and compassion.  At first, I thought it was a cousin of mine, but then the man spoke.  His voice was calm, smooth, measured.  He said that His name was Jesus.

I blinked rapidly.  I thought I was hearing or seeing things.  The man continued to speak.  He said that He allowed the car to hit me because He didn't want me going with my friends; they meant me serious harm.  He said He was saving my life.

I thought this man was nuts.  I didn't believe in God, and I certainly didn't believe in Jesus.  As far as I was concerned, they were nothing but a fabricated fairy tale.  I didn't believe in them; I believed in Satan.  Satan was my master, not God.  

I then looked around me.  There was nobody else in the room excepting for me and this long-haired stranger who fancied himself as the Messiah, Jesus Christ.  Or else I was so focused on the man, I wasn't aware OF anybody else.  

I told the man that He was delusional.  The man smiled and said that many people did, but He still loved me, just the same.  I wasn't convinced.  I then spit at his face and the man smiled even bigger; he said no amount of hate spewed from my lips would change the love he had for me.

I wasn't aware of any pain or discomfort, or even people shouting overhead.  All I knew that I was lying on my back, on some table and that this guy who called himself Jesus was in the room with me.  I couldn't see anything else but Him and a blinding yellow-white light that seemed to enamate from him.  I thought I was in a surreal dream.  Maybe I was, I don't know, but suddenly I felt that maybe I was the one cracking up.

Nothing was making sense; maybe I was on the verge of having a nervous breakdown.

To be continued.