K 16: Exorcised
"To question his wisdom in abandoning his mortal identity upon finding his damned purpose is anathema...What care we for the low birth of the vessel that received the undying ambrosia of Damnation?" --R 9
By my own hand, under the gaze of the Sanctified, the mortals who spawned me and nurtured me are dead. On the canvas of their skins I drew up my new Requiem at dagger-point.
I heard a song in my head: "The ties that bind, they are barbed and spined and hold us close forever."
With shears and pliers, I belied this rhyme. Edward and Cassandra assisted in the ugly work that need follow such a ceremony. It was nice to have them there, to be able to make small-talk and not be doing the pruning and morbid dentistry alone.
The household is quiet. People are in shock. Kitchens are empty. Showers are running everywhere, long showers, in which I imagine much scouring and drain-gazing is taking place.
Out, damn spot, out!
My fresh haflings, some spots you just can't scrub out with exfoliating soap, no matter how gritty the pumice, no matter how hard you scrub.
Beguiling Jewel was with me in the prayer room. She's changed. A new facet in her precious structure, a darker hue, a sharper cut.
I'm fond of her.
Edward, too. That old Eagle Scout. We'll have to get him a real name, and not the one Jewel teases him with behind his back.
Jason. He's still Pretty Boy. I hope he understands what it means that I uninvited him to the exorcism. There was hope for him but now he just irritates me. I'm trying to care that Simon is softening him up even more than he's already softened, but I can't muster up the indignity. If Jason wants to expose himself to confusing drivel about saving the children and curing cancer, let him. Let it eat away at his conscience. Let him have a nervous breakdown, caught between Simon's kine-hugging propaganda and his love for me.
Let him learn what it feels like to pretend you're something you're not, and to rail against what is only right and natural.
Tonight I go into Chesapeake bay again, the bay which has taken my turmoil away before, the bay which received the bloodless and hacked bodies of my parents, which swathed my beloved Josephine in its silty currents for months, and which carried her away when I released her remains from the plastic tarpaulin.
Heavenly Father, scorn Your lowly servant just a little less as he drifts in Your black waters praising You under sea and star.