[ WP ] You discover the message meant to be given to `` The Chosen One '' was wrongfully given to you .

The coarse rope was heavy around my neck, draping over my shoulders and falling halfway down my back. I looked out over the crowd, once my followers, now something much more sinister. Sweat poured down my face, falling onto the wood floor and leaving dark spots as they melted in the warm sunshine. 
 
 My message had been clear. I was the son of God. Or so I had thought. Turns out a clerical error meant the message was sent to me instead of my neighbor. Looking back though, I should have probably known sooner. Harold was a stand-up guy, a real go-getter. And me? Well, let's just say my former line of business was n't exactly legitimate. But maybe that's what made me so good at this whole `` prophet'' thing. Who's to say Jesus would n't have turned out to be a drug dealer if Gabriel had gone to the hut next door to Mary? 
 
 Harold was the one who found me out. In retrospect, maybe I should n't have framed the letter. The only thing crazier than a man who thinks he's the son of God is a man who has proof of it.
