S – Hey there, James.
J – Oh, Christ, Sam…what the devil are you doing here?
S – Came to see you, man. You look worse for wear. Glug glug glug. We all have our vices, don’t we?
J – How did you get in…?
S – Getting in is the easy part. It’s what you do once you’re inside which counts. You know that shit better than anybody.
J – Sam…Sam, don’t hurt me, please don’t. Whatever you think I’ve done, you’re mistaken. I swear it to you.
S – Wow, Father. Live the lie, huh?
J – Sam, for the love of God…
S – You’re one to talk of love, or God. I want it back, Father. I want what’s mine.
J – What? What!
S – My crucifix. The one you took from me, among other things. And I want to thank you for all the strength you gave me.
J – Strength…?
S – Yeah. You ever wish upon a falling a star? I have. You become one with it, and you come crashing down into the earth. It’s a true liberation. I speak to God now, like the mad often do. God speaks back to me. Everything we know is a dream. We hate one another but we have an understanding. I don’t judge her for what she allows me to do, and she doesn’t judge me for what I do. You can't hide in this church forever.
J – Have mercy on me, Sam, I beg you. Please. Don’t hurt me.
S – I need to hurt you.
S – Get away from me. You’re puerile, and I’m so bloody tired of metaphors.
G – That’s tough shit. It doesn’t change, even in death, Sam. Death is the Las Vegas of metaphors.
S – Stay the fuck away from me, bitch.
G – I’m in your blood, Samuel, in your cock, wriggling my way up your ass…filling your mind with intention.
S – This paralyzing freedom. I fucking hate you for it.
G – Free will, baby.
S – I hate you.
G – I hate you too. And love you. I created you.
S – A little black girl with no eyes in her damn face. If you’re trying to teach me something you’re wasting your time.
G – I am the all and everything. I have no time, Sam. It’s only your time I’m wasting.
S – I don’t believe in you anymore. If I believe in you then I have to believe in me. That’s too much responsibility.
G – You can believe what you want. Nobody’s holding a gun to your head. It might feel like that sometimes but you’re free. Shit, it’s the greatest gift I could have given you. You don’t even have to be thankful. Just do something with it. Or don’t. You could suicide yourself in the name of some crude artistic statement. You would find peace eventually, even as a coward.
S – How can you allow this, all this horror and suffering…does it amuse you? Rape and genocide; is it supposed to be beautiful? Tell me. Is there meant to be some twisted poetry to it?
G – How can you allow it? Is it beautiful, Sam, what James did to you? Do you covet that violation? Is it the dark jewel in your paper crown?
S – He turned me into a horrible cliche. I still want it back, you know. I despise you. I killed him.
G - I know you did.
S - I'm not sorry.
G - I know you're not.
S - Stay with me.
G - Ok, Sam. Ok.