{Contextualization: Today after digging up old files on my student Google Drive saved on my current Google Drive, I found out this lil' story. Considering I wasn't wanting in making a story today, this was an easy one to convert to Steemit formatting. Things are just slightly changed or polished up. This is in honour to 
Officially, 1030, suspect Meursault had entered into the investigation room and had been seated. Meursault was present in tan suit and pants, sweating like a pig as if the Sun had beaten on him and a tad stressed to the predicament of being lugged around by MPs.
1045: After he had been seated more calmly and taken in by the chair, I had arisen and sat on the table, legs crossed and leaned in. I joked a simple one at that, trying to lighten his soul - or so I thought he had one - and maybe getting into him easier. After all, a stubborn, heated subject is unlike butter but, actually, pure steel to even the strongest of attacks. He seemed to receive it well and parsed a joke straight back at me - I couldn’t hold it and chuckled.
1105: Offering some good Italian wine to further soothe his spiritless spirit, I was taken a bit back when he just said no. Thinking him those types, I just moved on to the subject:
“Here stated from the police report, you were yay-say a year ago on the crime scene, armed with revolver, popping off a shot to then wait and pop off four more and then arrested. What say you Monsieur Meursault? Why the discrepancy of not only firing again, but waiting for such?”
Meursault had remained unphased, not even his body twitched to what had been stated. In fact, I jerked back to his inaction; the typewriter, the usual tapster, just stopped typing. The typing noises returning, Meursault leaned in and my ears were all open to his words:
“Monsieur, I don’t know.”
“Meursault, you know I can’t work with that.”
“I didn’t kill him out of spite, nor revenge, nor for fun nor as a hitman.”
“Those only answer the purpose of shooting him the first time. I ask for why again?”
“It had just happened...”
The first of my career that I have seen any one not only not know why they had done it but even pose it with a serious face. Even a child that believes not why they did it would get a vague semblance of knowing why and what they have done. He only knew the what; but the why? Like a miner in a dark cave with no carbide lamps in hand to then explode it all and never understand the why or even how! Yet I pressed:
“Monsieur Meursault, do you believe in the Almighty; the lord and savior of us all?”
“No.”
1140: And for who knows how long I and the typewriter just froze in place, I may have just hallucinated but the typewriter pricked the paper and I saw the word: “no.” So I pulled up a rag and swiped the dry sweat across my face, my mind still recovering from... the response. It certainly wasn’t one I was expecting but the one I had gotten and had to deal with. The faithless man was like me: wiped sweat off like, breathed like me, sat like me and walked like me. Yet without a piece of his heart for the Almighty?
“Monsieur Meursault e-e-excuse me for a moment. But you do not believe in the Almighty? If I may inquire on the matter, but you do not believe in the Almighty or haven’t found the Faith given by the Almighty?”
“I do not believe in the Almighty.”
“Don’t don’t?”
“Don’t.”
1210: I wiped my face off, sweating more from the apparent lack of belief in the Almighty than this heat that crept into the room with its many million needles injecting heat into my body. I should be dead with this double heat, but this cold attitude neutered all other heat - slowly killing my sense of the World, threatening to destroy it. My legs took me to the cabinet, my hands pull back the doors, arms reached for the cross and so Monsieur Meursault saw the Almighty’s image in the flesh. I felt my head boiling over, I swear I even saw steam coming off of me due to this atheist in my ranks.
“Do you know who this is, Monsieur Meursault?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me the name and their importance of such a great figure?”
“Jesus Christ, a person that had died in the name of the Christian god.”
“Correct. Do you think Christ died for our sins?”
“Yes, but I don’t know how this has to do with what I am here for.”
1230: I was already at the edge of boiling over and just kicking Meursault out of the room and pushing the case forward so the law can decide his fate. Placing the cross back into the cabinet and closing it, I called in the MPs. Marching in like the perfect troops they were, they took him away and I commented “Bonne journée, Monsieur Diable.” He seemed to give a smile and I chuckled so hard that only the slam of the door could dare compete. The typewriter leaving soon, I began right away at the report.
Final comments: Meursault clearly has no knowledge of why he had done what he done and is Faithless - completely. But criminal? No verdict, request that missionaries go into his cell.
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and . for the fact that I had nye-on stressed her with constant arguments and pure stubbornness that might as well killed me if I thought I could've held my breath in forever. for the fact of recent mistreatment and using him as a punching bag after I had landed myself in an unfortunate incident that I like him and I to only know; and I want that "real-life" incident to stay quiet amongst us two. Do I deserve their mercy? Up to them. What have I really done to make amends: nothing in the sense that I cannot even be allowed to change in my environment without stepping into fifty other bear-traps and the fact that I am pretty blind to not see those bear-traps.