Abraham. What were you thinking nudging Isaac up that hill? You must have known some tests must be refused. You say I shouldn’t judge, that I’ve made my own mistakes and I’m too old now for debate, but Abraham, you lit a fire. You meant to draw the knife across his throat. The story says you killed a goat instead and this morning, reading the papers, I can smell it. That smoke. The greasy residue of burnt flesh. Of villages bombed. Boys trained to kill. Teenagers with AK’s haunting the hallways. Oh Abraham. All those sacrificial children.