when all else fails

Thud. Then again. Thud. The cross felt cold against Issac's chest. He had been thinking and,as was his hobby, he always swung his only inheritence away from himself, just to have it return to his skin. He sat up on the hard mattress he called a bed and increase the dull lantern that lit his small room. He was a criminal. It hurt his pride to think about it but that didnt make it anyless true. Being christan was a crime. Or so the world thought.