WORK IN PROGRESS

PROLOGUE If there is a conundrum Ridley's psyche does not want to wrap itself around, it is the insubstantial concept of trust. We feast on our suppers with our companions, oblivious that jabbed on our spines are the table knives. We walk around parading our friendships not knowing that the same, familiar palms that catch our tears are the same, unacquainted hands holding the Whetstone that sharpens the blade on our backs. That is why Ridley could not comprehend why society continues to adamantly erect its pillars on fickle affinities. After all, he was there to witness it all: Sweet vows metamorphosing into bitter insults. Nights of longing turning into the longest of nights. The eyes that watched him blossom into a preschooler turning into the palms that plucked out the petals of his childhood. Those wedding rings solely serving as a vindication to justify r**e. Even rampant exploitation and pervading fraudulence. If we possess this primal tendency to be seduced by the material, then the theory of trust will always be provisional - but why do we still kneel before this Golden Calf of a god? If we are bound to be betrayed by those we defend the most, why trust in the first place?