Al had done something really bad. So bad that he forced himself not to think what he had done, or how many people had been hurt. So bad, he came to believe that what he had done was pre-ordained and so he had no choice. No choice at all. Not me. No matter what the jury had found. God had caused it all, or fate, or karma, or his DNA. Not Al. Al was like a Brownian particle pushed around by random molecular collisions. That’s what he said.
He explained all this to his cellmate Charlie. Charlie said it was bullshit. Al insisted. Charlie laughed. Al killed Charlie.
No choice. No choice at all, Al said. Not Me.
Memorable Fancies 
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