Doctors can't help. John was right. His religion was right. I was burning up and my head was filled with the screams of my cónyuge as they died. Died... They were all dead. I was in hell. I would spend eternity hearing them crying my name for help. I deserved it. I failed.Please, let me die."Brian. It's okay. Your fever spiked when you regained consciousness. You'll be okay now. Stay with us, Brian."Someone was talking to me. A calm voice. As if I was a spooked horse. I tried to answer. I. Instead, I storm through the house, calling his name. And I don't mean "Master", or even "Sir", but his given name. I finally find him in the kitchen, and yell "Where were you when I called?" Calmly, evenly, he speaks. "I can see that you've had a bad day, so I will give you two minutes to get out of your uniform, and be in your submissive position." His rational demeanor, however, is gasoline to the bonfire of my frustration, and I begin to rant and rave about my day, and how much I had. More

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