[ WP ] A book lies open before you , titled `` Your Sins '' Every deed you 've done is in it . Next to the book lies a white marker and a note `` You may erase one sin from your record . '' What do you do with this power , and how does your life change ?

A homeless man lay dying in dingy brick alley. The walls were dripping grease because of the restaurant exhaust. He'd been sick from the rain. He lay covered in news paper. He even had it crumbled in his clothes. His disease did n't care. It was never going to make him warm again. After a time light stopped changing from day to night. It was n't dark but there was n't any light near by either. His body was numb. He felt like he was drunk but he was alert as if sober. What ever it was it was better than being cold. 
 
 
 A figure came up to him in black. He could n't see for shit as it was. The bum was near sighted as a mole, but it made him look less vulnerable if he could at least stand when approached. 
 
 `` Hey stranger. What can I do for you.'' 
 
 The figure said nothing and held out a book. the fingers were pale white and bony. The homeless man was getting the impression this guy was pretty goth. They could go either way; really nice or really mean, most times it was just weird. He took the book and held it right up to his face. He took out half a pair of reading glasses that were busted at the nose. The title read `` The Deeds of Man''. 
 
 `` Th' fuck is this? You some kind a religious nut?'' 
 
 again The figure said nothing. The bum could n't get a good look at his face. Either he had some serious shadows under his eyes or lots of dark make up. He could n't tell. There just was n't enough light. He tried to hand the book back and The figure made a sort of jedi hand wave, motioning to open the book. 
 
 The bum looked at again. Semi-curious, he opened the book. The first page said `` Here are written the deeds of...'' and under that The homeless man's name came into focus. He could n't tell if it was his vision or part of the sickness. He did n't think he'd been on any drugs recently enough for that. He was skeptical of the first page. He was n't sure what to make of his name. He did n't really know anyone else in the area. He began to question his lucidity. 
 
 Over the next pages were things he'd done as a child written in pencil. A few more pages in, were things he'd done a little older. At 13 there was a strange entry `` Stole a neighbors basketball - SIN''. The entry was written in pencil and'SIN' was stabbed into the page with angry ink. He thumbed a few more pages and found familiar stories. The word sin became common place. Toward the end it was marked on almost every other entry. The ink was less clear and more splashed on the page. He knew he had to be dreaming at this point. Fuck it. He did n't care if he was or not. 
 
 The figure lifted his hand to offer something else. It was an eraser. He took it in his hand to get a better look. For the first time the figure gasped. `` Only one...'' 
 
 He looked from the eraser back to the figure. `` Fuck you! You ca n't make me feel guilty about what I did!'' 
 
 The figure rasped out another word `` Redempshhuuun...'' 
 
 `` Fuck you! I did what I did and I do n't regret it.'' 
 
 `` One... chance......'' 
 
 `` Fine! You know what'' He gripped the front cover roughly with his left hand and found the page he was looking for. The entry read `` saved a woman from getting hit by a bus''. He gripped the eraser like a knife and ground the act out of existence. 
 
 `` She never thanked me anyway! How do you like that! Trying to make me some kind of do-gooder! Make me feel guilty for doin' what I had to do. Fuck you and your happier world.'' He threw the book right in his face. It did n't seem to hit its mark and the figure did n't care. 
 
 The figure just raised an accusing finger to poke the bum in his chest. Darkness poured out from his hand. It was like black mercury. It crawled across his chest and spread over his whole body. He looked up and screamed like a drowning man gasping for air. The touch of the liquid against his skin made him feel pure, uncomfortable, squirming stress. It was like lactic acid burning through his muscles. Soon it enveloped him and there was nothing left in the alley.
