"I made my way through the bodies of the sleeping disciples, my old friends, kicking aside empty goblets and tiptoeing around spilled wine. They were sleeping the sleep of those that did not wish to wake, afraid of what the morning would bring. Only Jesus was awake. He didn't drown himself in oblivion like the rest of them. Instead, just like a little boy, he'd kept himself awake, as if refusing sleep would make the morning never come."
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