text: “Do you think you’re a good person, Chris?” The question took me by surprise, “Do I...do I think I’m a good person?” I repeated. “Yes.” It replied. “Isn’t that up to you to decide?” I asked, puzzled. “Perhaps.” It says, “But does that really matter?” I began recollecting, or, trying to recollect the events of my life. A memory makes itself apparent. I see myself on my knees, holding something. No, someone. “Why Is it so hard to remember?” I asked. “Just concentrate, Chris. You’re here for a reason.” It replied reassuringly. I closed my eyes and dived into the murky black water of my mind. The memory comes back, sharper this time. The person I’m holding, she’s a girl, one with short brown hair and green eyes. There’s something wrong though. She’s...pale, the whitest shade I’ve ever seen. There’s blood on her clothes and by proxy, on mine too. Tears sting my cheeks. I’m pulled back to It’s domain. “I’m sorry, it’s so hard to picture, like remembering some long-forgotten dream.” I said. “That’s okay, take all the time you need.” It replied reassuringly. In an instant I’m back, warm torchlight illuminates the crowd around me and casts shadows of angry faces and sharpened blades across the floor. I look up at the man responsible. A grin besmirches his face and a bloodied knife lays gripped in his hand. A firestorm spurs in my head. I lift my gun to his chest and, before he can react, pull the trigger. My mind is carried to a new scene, I face a crowd of onlookers, smirks on their faces. My hands are bound. There’s a man to my right reading from a text. “For the crime of first-degree murder and the harbouring of the fugitive, we sentence you, Christopher James, to death by hanging of the neck. The floor drops from below me. The rope tightens around my neck. I feel my life end as my eyes lay frozen on the sign that hangs above the onlookers’ heads. “Welcome to Salem.” It reads. “I remember” I say through choked sobs, with tears stinging in my eyes. It looks at me with sorrow in its eyes. “I judge you’ve come to an answer then” It assumes. My mind struggles to recall the question but eventually does. “Yes” I say defiantly, “That man I killed deserved to die, my daughter was innocent.” It nods in acknowledgement. “What happened to you and your daughter was an affront to the moral laws of this world. Keeping this in mind, I agree with your assertion that you are a good person, Chris.” It says reassuringly. “What does that mean for me?” I ask hopefully. “It means that you deserve another chance” It says back with a smile. Somewhere in the world, a child is born, one with no memories of it’s previous life. A mother looks upon her child’s face. “He’s beautiful” she utters to herself. Her husband turns his gaze from the child to her. “What should we name him?” he asks, with a smile on his face. A thousand names flash through her mind in that moment as she looks into her son’s eyes. One name reveals itself among the swarm. “Christopher” she utters to herself. “It’s perfect.” Her husband replies.