Abe's Struggles
I didn't want to think about this. Especially not here, standing in front of the congregation, in my holy attire, fantasizing about the feeling of another man's blood dripping down my face and staining my teeth. How my voice doesn't crack when I lock eyes with the man at the back of the church is beyond me. Phantom aches burn under my collar in the shape of a human's bite. He stares at me, hungry, as if the only thing stopping him from devouring me where I stood was the sweet old ladies in the first pew and not because we are in the Lord's house. What sanctity does this place have if I, the one who took an oath to protect it and it's children from sin, stand in front of a monument to a god I created as his blood soaks my shoes and stains the fabric that covers my knees. I am knelt powerlessly, head bowed as if forced to taste the metallic liquid below, as the falso god stands above me. There will be no mother weeping at my feet during my self crucifixion for I will not rise in three days as a sinless man of God. I will instead rise with the sun tomorrow, don my collar and blood soaked shoes, and put a mask over my sins as they consume my flesh.