the words that speak harks the voice of the conscience; whose inner morality though, I cannot disclose yet.

It's been sometime since I deliberated over which seat to take (no Black pun here, move along), and frankly, I convinced myself to take a backseat this round; I just freed you from the captivity of ethics because I trusted you. Trust is scary, and nothing can ever be too trusted. Not even me-a conscience for damn sake-no, I messed up big this time. Who ever said that my words were infallible (probably another conscience) ought to rethink his logic. Whatever, it's all too late.

And so back to where I left you (this time with deliberate chained-pun), you took things into your own hands this round and it was utterly and grossly displeasing. I assumed you were more matured than the average boys of your (education) level but it was a mere facade of your insolence and innocence. Like I really care how desperately you're trying to defend yourself. I'm a conscience-people listen to me and not vice-versa.

Yes, so who defined morality huh? And what gave me the authority to dictate your ethical spectrum? The same answer to which: What gave you the blundering audacity to speak back at your seniors. You may be old, with the pock-marked face to blare your maturity our, but maturity developed slower than age. You grow too fast for your own good, shooting skywards but your conscience is nonchalant to your progress.

At this juncture, you probably deduced I am not your conscience-why would I speak bad about yours truly? And then again, putting into perspective your misdeeds, I would dare say your conscience might even go indifferent to self-ridicule; surely, he himself cannot tolerate the words you spew out so impulsively.

And then why am I interfering in this; shouldn't be my business no doubt? That will be settled later but don't you try to deviate my thoughts-you still remain pathetic and fallen. Fallen so hard, your bones have shattered like a brittle bottle and your friends abandoned the one-winged devil; lay like a new-born baby with shadowed features that humanity shuns.

Don't you let your eyes shift up to the title again when I'm chiding you: A modest reply? Reply to what?

QUESTIONS AT BAY NOW AND ORDER IN COURT! The good man is speaking and the devil will cringe.

You have personified the meaning of pure radical evil; your illicit and explicit actions, far deeper than that pompous attitude, redefines the comprehension of disgust. The nuclear warfare that came light to the world took no bloke when you came running along; streaking naked with evil splashed all over your sinful soul.

You say I sin by condemning you back and so I say yes.

But who the love cares? I'm the conscience and when I swear, the world shall see it as words of affection. You didn't miss that did you?

If it takes genius to muster up some balls to speak back about issues that have none, then surely you might have noticed the prefix 'the' with my title. Yes a noble reference and not just a plain name. I am not a conscience-not YOURS (like you even have one, now that I reconsider), his nor hers-but theirs. Yes I am everyone's conscience, the universal dictum to right and wrong.

I stand here with the voices of the world and we point our fingers at you.

What have we done to deserve you?

But this is not the reply; you should have known that this is a speech-the flowery lead up that anticipates that grand crux of the message.

Before it comes you better let the drums roll, the ones in your ears.

Because when it comes you least expect it

FUCK YOU

Yours sincerely,

The world at heart