Guilt Read Online Free

feel. Or didn't make me feel. I was too shaken to experience any sensations.
    "I can still see that moment so clear in my head," he said, "like it's still right in front of me."
    And so could I. I couldn't help but picture the sight in my mind. It was horrid; and it took every bit of willpower I had not to cry.
    Kain took another sip of his coffee, gave himself a mental shake to break free of the sorrow, and smiled at me. I think the smile had been meant to reassure me that he would be all right, but I felt as though he unintentionally mocked my shame.
    I envied him his ability to confess his feelings of fault in his brother's passing, misplaced as they were; but I felt all the more reluctant to relate my own part in Corry's death.
    How was I ever going to get past this one event in my life that had caused so much damage to so many?
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     
     

Chapter Four
     
    The first few weeks of art class were rather uncomfortable, but, all together, uneventful. The Freak gave Claire what he probably thought were menacing stares, but she simply found his looks to be absurd. Other than the occasional disturbing comments, made in an unsuccessful attempt to rile a reaction, he didn't truly bother either of his tablemates. And after awhile he seemed to consider even those sporadic attempts to be a wasted effort.
    Claire's other tablemate was less cumbersome, but his reticence was just as awkward. Corry was a young man of few words. She had yet to make conversation with him beyond a handful of short sentences in greeting, which varied very little from the following:
    "Hi."
    "Hey."
    "How's it going?"
    "'K. You?"
    "A'right."
    And that would be the end of all dialogue for the day.
    As for the class itself, rather than teaching his students the fundamentals of art, Mr. Dart focused his efforts on channeling their creativity by issuing challenging projects. The first week of October he introduced a new project that would require the "initiation of inspiration to be ignited by fellow classmates" at their tables. Claire blushed at the thought of interaction with her tablemates, but listened on as her art instructor explained the assignment.
    Each student was to bring a book excerpt, poem or article of his or her choice over the course of the week. They and their tablemates would use these written compositions to translate the subject into an illustration. Various art mediums were to be employed to do so.
    Due to a distinct lack of enthusiasm from her tablemates, Claire volunteered to contribute the first item, which would be due at the next class session. She knew straight away what she would provide:
A Psalm of Life
by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. The poem had already established itself as her inspiration for life beyond Brickerton, and she thought that sharing it now would display her depth of fortitude regarding her own future goals. It wasn't that she had anything to prove to anyone in that regard, she told herself, but it re-emphasized her desire for accomplishment and success.
    She wasn't really into poetry. In fact, she felt a bit guilty at never having been able to understand the beauty of intelligent verse. But this particular poem had touched her. She happened to find it on the side of a box of tea bags about two years before, cut it out and kept it taped to her notebook ever since.
    Having found it later in a book of poems at the library, she discovered that the tea box copy was only an abbreviation of the full psalm. Still, she'd found it easier to just memorize the shorter version, and she had repeated it to herself often until it became her mantra of freedom. The words came directly to her mind now without the need for recollection, and she chanted them to herself over and over again, as though they were a catchy tune that stuck in her head.
    Though she had the poem with her, Claire didn't offer it up until the next day. Not willing to give up her own worn copy, she wrote down the lyrics on two sheets of