Such is the act of loitering:
The room is occupied, but lacking comfort. The fabric which labeled them 'colleagues' is straining to stretch beyond the established fit, now threatening to tear. Such determined guises of familiarity are woven into the thread, but there is evidence that the stitches are fraying. They traded fluorescents for candlelight, a mistake that cast a harsher glow on their imperfections. Later, one will say they merely shared a meal, another will claim innocent conversation. Both are lies barely blanketed by truth and neither can explain the motive. Hundreds of meals, thousands of conversations, but never such blatant loitering. As an undesirable guest at a private table, silence and uncertainty form an obstinate buffer to progress. Suffering aimless gestures and wanderings from separate corners, theirs is a distance typically reserved for adversaries. A world designed to turn does so without them, evidenced by the apparent cessation of time. Pauses are borrowed from strangers, shifting gazes stolen from delinquents. This had been an attempt to mark a different path but the way is foreign; no signposts sheltered behind the rampant, snagging thorns. Convicted by the mounting proof of failure, the venture is ultimately abandoned.
Such is the act of larceny:
A taste of crime can be sampled repeatedly, testing for flavor during the early simmer. Despite the tartness of the first sip, there is something irresistible that craves seconds, just past the bitter boil comes a savory aftertaste. And with each return, a theft is perpetrated. Stolen looks transition into embezzled contact, grains of confidence collecting with every misappropriation. As with all seasoned criminals, the first dark activities are conducted in a manner nearly above suspicion. A brush, a rub and a lean easily explainable as incidental. For a time, even they believe the fabrication. A marvelous invention, the self-sustaining lie and greater becomes their dependence on deception. Only it fails to satisfy. Greed, that favored tool of devils, can coax the most vigilant into a covenant with shadows. That is the moment when pride is robbed for the sake of sensory acquisition.
Such is the act of vandalism:
It is equivalent to brash graffiti, the state of the dwelling. Strewn in haste are the remains of constraints, both tangible and internal. Should the scene be discovered, one would declare it a site of burglary. Hurry leaves no thought to neatness. Clothes are demoted to twisted heaps amid fallen frames and overturned lamps. A rushed dragging of curtains impede the heavens from lighting splendor upon hidden exertions, the darkness throwing crude cover over judgment lapses. That none shall be the wiser is the excuse leading to the deed. But vandalism's tendency toward the unsubtle assures its visibility Witnesses would hardly need to view the crime scene to recognize the wicked defacement of standards.
Such is the act of murder:
They watch the death grip tighten around the throat of normalcy and make no effort to save it. Homicide by neglect is a capital offense but ignorance is much more inviting than introspection. Mourning is the last of many emotions to arrive, if at all, for the demise of precedent. While the act had been commenced in darkness, the rays of morning bully past the blockades to sting eyes with smug truth. There is no night-kissed cloak for the full disclosure of day. The initial pangs of trepidation are summarily dismissed even as the light embraces the testimony of transgression. It can not be inverted. It will not be reversed. And though this new walk may lead to the gallows, it also features a careless trampling upon the corpse of predetermined roles. Reinvention brings the fall of the gavel, rendering the verdict of sinful innocence.