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The effects of a demon in the Catholic Church.
As I walk down the rode of darkness I wonder… “ How many times… exactly, will god let me step foot in the church before I am set on fire?” One of the barren days I fear a stray candle will burn flames to high and send me to an early hell. Oh yes, it is a guarantee that that is where I am going. Everyone will welcome me with open claws and I will be home. The one and only place that accepts me. The one place that gave me birth. But I will not make it there today seeing as I made it through my confessions. No worries… I’ll get there when I get there. And when I do get there all praise will rein as I burn forever and forever burn.
… 9:30 am earlier that day
My voice was drunk (because I was), and weary (because I was tired and confused). My vocal swayed in tone with emotion as I spoke to my priest. “ I bathe daily in the tears of my victims. Their pain and agony toughens my skin. The more scars I give them the more scars of mine disappear. The more frustrated, confused, and desperate they become as I tourcher them… the more of an adrenaline I receive.” In the middle of my verbal out let the priest cut in.
“ What is it my child… exactly that you are talking about?” his voice was timid with the sound of numbness and age. You know, as if had been living too long. Many times in mind I thought to my self to change all that but I didn’t I just replied in a dull roar.
“ Let me finish you impatient Mongoloid… and in time you will find out.” I was angry but anyone who was none the wiser would think I was just drunk. “ Now as I was saying, before I was so rudely interup- (my throat swallowed my voice and with the ending of the word…) ted-ed-ed. (I spat it back up again) INTERUP-UP-TED… I gain glory from a person who has a downfall. My confidence is built off of someone who is driven down to insecurity. I am the driver in the ride to insecurity. I am the push to a downfall. I am the whispers that degrade, dismantle, and ravish the mind until everyone within a mile is insane. I am a killer. I will never stop killing because it is in my nature to kill. It boils in the blood that runs in my veins.” I was now yelling and crying out the from the pit of my stomach constantly-repeatedl y, realizing-rememberin g, precisely how fucked up I really am. Regardless of my strong want to just whack myself… I was able to continue. “ Father I am sick… cruel… and I love being that way. But if this is the way of love… I must not know it well. I fear myself because I fear nothing. Not even your god.” The priest dropped his bible. I pause briefly and thought of how strange that sounds seeing as I am in his so called “ house”… then continued.
“Father he came toward me with his rifle. I just laughed in his hideous face. Oh my god his face was so ugly. God must have sinned for the first time when he allowed him life. I laughed in his face because I knew I was going to hurt him more than any of his worst nightmares turned to life- ever could. Him and his pathetic, pig resembling family. Ahh (briefly another pause in exhales). Now is where I think I should stop, father. The details of how I killed them could sicken even the strongest stomach.”
“ I suppose it would be wise to for you to say everything… it is the way you are suppose to confess. I do not have a very strong stomach though. Age has beaten me in the game of health. Digestion is one of the many leagues I have lost in. I’ll be 80 in a month you know.” the priest spoke out of his faith in god and his faithfulness to god. It was as though he was listening to me because he knew it was only right to do so.
Hearing that I quickly emptied all the emotion out of me. To even speak what I was about to say was cold and cruel. But more so for me because I also did everything I said. “ His daughter was four months old. I sliced her face open and held her up high so that the blood could hit my skin. After a while my arm grew tired. I decided I didn’t want to hold her any more. Then I saw the fan. I hung her there to die. That way the fan could hold her for me. And she too could be blown away to hell?”
“ Stop” the priest whispered. I heard him but continued anyway.
“ The mother was a feisty twenty five year old with a temper. I wasn’t going to keep fighting and chasing after her. Even though at first it was enjoyable. So, I tied her to the bed with barbwire and let her fight with that. For a while I just sat there and listen to her scream out her frustration and fear. But then she started crying and begging so pathetically. I figure since you are begging me like I am torturing you… why not literally do it. I took her ribs out one by one and stuck them back in to the part of her body where things exit.”
“ StoP.” The priest raise his voice just a little bit higher. I ignored him.
“ At first I just glued the man that thought once to kill me to a metal chair. But he wasn’t watching the show I worked so hard to put on for him. So I also glued his eyes open and made his punk ass watch. I made him watch as I took his valuables away. And then I took –what he considered valuables- away so that he could make no more fuck ups like himself. Then finally I just left. I left them all their. Didn’t even bother to throw the bodies out. Some one will smell it someday.”
“ STOP! STOP! STOP IT!” HE WAS NOW YELLING. Can u believe it? He had the mordacity to yell at me. So I just kept on talking until I was done.“ and they will throw them out for me.”
The priest walked out of the confessional. And said “ I will pray EVERY DAY of the rest of my short life for you.” I saw his tears falling as I walked out chasing after him. “ Maybe god will give us both answers as to why you do these things. Because I have none.”
I had ask myself why after my every murder every since I was seventeen. “ Father I am paid to kill so naturally people try to kill me.” Even though I was talking he still kept walking. I still kept chasing after him trying to get him to listen. “When they try to kill me I release all hell to reassure myself that they will never try no shit like that again. Although sometimes I just do it for the rush. I’ve been killing every since hit seventeen. Father you must understand these killing are what I love… and my job.”
“ Don’t you think of what your parents might say about of you? "
“ The say that they are proud of me. But, father I know I am sick. I know I have a problem. What I don’t know is how to solve it.”
“ Look to god for the answers … and stop coming to me. You aren’t even catholic.”
Cutting him off I said “ God? GOD! WHAT GOD? I HAVE DONE THINGS SO HORRIBLE NOT EVEN GOD UNDERSTANDS THEM! AND IF GOD DOESN’T UNDERSTAND WHAT HE CREATED, THEN HE TOO, IS A LIAR! THERE IS NO FUCKING GOD! SO THERE MUST BE NO FUCKING ANSWERS!” I was furious and fluster with my anger.
“ There is to a God.” The priest said calmly as he looked at me with shame and wiped his tears away. “And he is NOT and will NOT be held responsible for creating you. Behold he is the creator (he pointed to the skies beyond the roof of the church). But he my child did not create you!” his voice quivered with fear and confusion. His cries echoed through his facial expressions as he slammed the door to his office in my face.
Walking away from the office doors, I understood why he left me there lonesome. I was not only there for my confessions… I was there for help. He knew I had already been to god for help. Then he looked at me in my eyes and saw nothing. It wasn’t until that moment that he realizing that not even god could help me. This fact made him question his faith. Never had he done that before. That very fact gave him a startle even more than my stories.
I wonder how much worse I’ll get by next by next Sunday. Cross your fingers but, I think I can get him to vomit again like he did last Sunday. Ah the look on his face. It was the expression of a person who witnessed a child running into the middle of the street chasing after a ball, right when the child gets hit. Sad, shocking, sickening, and painful. Like every time he looks at me the sight strikes his eyes. He could barley pray to the god he once love unquestionably after we meet. He could only cry along with me. I really must have a problem that can’t be solved. Just from father Paul conversing with me for ten minutes, he has now gained a lifetime problem. You could just imagine the effect I could have on the rest of the world.
The church was scary. Perhaps it scares me because I knew I was the descendent of its enemy. I noticed how every portrait, statue, and monument seemed to be looking at me the same exact way the priest did. “ I need to get out of here before I burn.” I was speed walking so fast I nearly fell when my feet unconsciously stopped. So close, I was so very close to the front door but I couldn’t leave. There was a portion of holy water in a statue resembling a birdbath. I absolutely positively had to touch it. How else would I know if I was a true descendent of the dark angel himself?
I was so curious that I wiped my tears away and stuck my right hand’s pointer finger into the water without a care. Just curiosity. Slowly nothing… then a flicker… now a full breed spark of fire. Flames rushed up my cuticle, to my risk, down my hand, and up my shoulder. I screamed “ AHHHHHHHHHH SHIT” and snatched my hand out of the water real quick then cried. Right then I knew I was destined for hell.
Thoroughly I examined my arm. No burns. Just a sting every time I touched it with the opposite hand. I touch with my right hand… it burns on the left. I then touch with the left… it burns on the right. “ It’s not possible. No no no no no no… it’s not possible.” I said aloud as
Current mood: 1
Added on: 12/09/2006 09:52:05
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