Author's Note: Yes, you have seen correctly. Chapter Three is finally here! I send my greatest apologies for keeping you waiting so long, and also for it being so short (but it's better than nothing.)It was difficult trying to figure out which approach I wanted to take for this chapter. Somehow that took me months, but hey, I can't help that I'm an extremely indecisive Libra. Also, I'd like to say ahead of time that Moritz's views do not reflect my own and were written that way due to the time period. I hope you enjoy. Don't forget to leave me your thoughts! Porcelain Owl xx

Moritz slowly walked down the cobblestone from the mourning church to the wood, leaving behind everything and everyone he knew, the sorrow he felt. The grief of his friends was too much on him, dragging him into a deep pit of emptiness. It was nice to see that they truly did care about him, even though they didn't show it. And after really reflecting about their love, Moritz felt the pang in his chest called regret, the regret of ever committing the sinful act of suicide when there really were arms to hold him. It was astonishing- yet sad- what a loss could do to a congregation, the fact that people were late to show emotions; that they would only be expressed during extremity when it was clearly far too late.

With nothing left to do, he turned to the path that led through the dark wood to the clearing in which his blood resided, and where he had chosen to reside for a while as well. When he reached the clearing, there was nothing to be found, not even the stain of his shed blood. Remembering the wetness of the grass earlier this morning, he determined that there had been a little fall of rain and it had washed the blood away. However, when Moritz crouched down to get a closer look, he saw just the slightest red tint amongst the green blades. The boy shrugged it off and began to pace in circles. Quickly, he became ever so sleepy, eventually stumbling onto the ground and blacking out.

It all flashed before his eyes. The boy with brown curls stood there, a look of utter hopelessness across his face, yet there was a sort of acceptance there. There was a beautiful girl in a white nightgown clenching her small stomach, a tear trickling down her face. Adults narrowed their eyes in disgrace. The same boy bent over parchment, quickly scrawling down words of great emotion and love. The girl forcefully dragged down the dark cobblestone street, yelping in pain and protest. Two boys embraced in a passionate kiss. A bloodcurdling scream of distress. The village graveyard. The boy running through the night.

Moritz's eyes opened to the black night sky, little stars twinkling above the treetops. He could hear crickets chirping. The pain in his chest quickly resumed, almost as strong as before. Something didn't feel right at all, not that much could feel right when you were deceased, but this was different. What did it mean? Why did the people seem so familiar? The boy tried to brush the dream off of his shoulders, declaring it merely just . . . a dream. There couldn't be such a thing as being able to see into the future or receive a psychic message. It just wasn't possible.

Then he heard it, the sound of two familiar male voices. They happened to sound like his fellow peers, Hanschen and Ernst. What would they be doing out here? Moritz rose and followed the sound, leading him not too far from the clearing. And sure enough, it was Hanschen and Ernst, sitting very closely together on the grass. The two boys were discussing something that Moritz couldn't quite make out or comprehend. Moritz was quite shocked when he saw the two lean in and plant a soft kiss on each other's lips, just like the dream. But it couldn't be possible. Moritz must have still been dreaming. Lousily, he pinched himself on the arm and nothing happened. Still, Moritz refused to accept the reality and went stomping back to the clearing. Maybe it was all a hallucination. That's right, he was awake and hallucinating. That's all it was.

And even if he wasn't hallucinating, it was merely a . . . coincidence, that's all. Moritz reflected that really, any of those things could happen coincidently. They all seemed fairly realistic, although he had never heard of two boys being sexually engaged with each other. Honestly, he didn't understand why a guy would be into a guy. He had been taught of the union of a woman and a man. At the same time, however, he did like the creativity of it all . . . they appeared to be different, like he always has felt. Moritz shook the thought away. He didn't like the idea of sexuality. It was something that had killed him and caused him to lose sleep.

Moritz resumed his position on the grass and tried to fall back to sleep just to pass the time. He wasn't sure how long he would remain this way or why he was this way in the first place. Did the Bible say anything about being a spirit . . . or ghost? Were there different standards when it came to suicide? And most of all, would he go to heaven after this? Or, had he already made the move and this is hell? Wouldn't that be hell; being limited in what you could do, with no touch and no one to hear your cries, restrictions, time that seemed like forever, a pang in your chest, being taunted by your past, and never-ending regret? What is hell and what is heaven? And where was he?