At the moment, I can still feel my arm tingle from the stream of rogue electrons that used my arm as the line between point A and point B. I should know better than to toy with a device still connected to the AC system. I sometimes need to be shown things the hard way to learn them correctly. But what I learned from my mistake isn't nearly as important as the questions the voltaic waves stirred. I could have easily died had the amperage been higher. And that would have been it. I would have had no legacy in which to survive myself, and now that procreative urge that blesses and plagues humanity has begun to rebel at the thought of dying unfulfilled. I have always felt an obligation to create in the form of art and prose, but seldom have I acted upon it. But now, the desire to weave words and thoughts gnaws at me, and I am more than happy to oblige. I am picking up my pen. I am breaking my silence.