There's a reason why we're born with brains in our heads, not rocks.

Then let us go and be terrible.

Go and play. Run around. Build something. Break something. Climb a tree. Get dirty. Get in some trouble. Have some fun.

Burn? Smite? Punish? Why is your god so intolerant? So jealous? Why must there be only one god? Why is there not room for many?

But he was sick of this charade. Sick of watching people lose a little more of their humanity each day, and sick to death of seeing people tortured in the name of God. What had happened to these people?

Peter stood up and let a wicked smile slide across his face. "Time to play.

Peter," she whispered and reached out, touching his cheek. "My little Peterbird? You flew back to me.