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Blue Vein

Satan:  Sin is an exterior state.  On the outside it looks like they’re sinning, taking drugs, robbing liquor stores, giving 4-dollar blow jobs. On the inside they’re children, taking care of necessities, taking as much joy in their lives as they possibly can, given the conditions placed upon them by your society. That’s holiness. Can you say the same thing about yourself?

Quick:  Well, I haven’t taken joy in anything lately, but I’m not sure what any of this is leading to….

Satan:  To know what’s holy, one must know unholiness.

Quick:  I know what sin is.

Satan:  You’ve only been toying with sin. You can’t look into a sinner’s heart from a pulpit. I’ll give you the power to look all the way in, through the soul to their deepest secret.

Quick: Then I can save them!

Satan:  [devlish] Precisely. You ready?

Quick:  Yes!

Satan:  Put your ear to the speaker, man. [Quick does it.] Repeat after me: 
“I am a holy sinner
With the power to heal the sick
Somnia credentur vix; non tamen omnia falsa
With a look I can cut to the quick.

Quick:  Where are you? Are you still with me?  [to audience] I feel as if I could see into your souls, as if I could fly around this world on a whim and a prayer.


[Back to narrative]
And that is exactly what I did, with a hope in my heart of finding love again and a renewed ministry, thanks to the power that now pulsed within me.


The heat from the dessert floor wanted to engulf us all as my eyes made their way through the crowd, until at last they became affixed upon her ripened navel, undulating to and fro, heaving shamelessly to the strains of the maniacal cacophony. 

I made my way through the ecstatic crowd, struggling past spectators to fight for a place in front of her, where I sought to gain my own unadulterated perspective on this piece of embodied magnificence.

I became engaged in the task of tracing the paths of sweat beads as they trickled down her dark brown skin, conforming to every delectable curve of her tainted flesh, from above her shapely waist to below her skimpy, sequined loin cloth. Her mascara-smeared eyelids violently fluttered against the dark backdrop of her pupils, resting momentarily as they rolled back into her head, exposing only the whites of her eyes.

Firmly entrenched in the confines of her vaporous aura, I was able to muster the awful truth she had sought to conceal from the rest of the world and shuddered as the realization clawed its way up from the gnarled and tarnished recesses of her soul.

      She peered down at me, having sensed an urgency.

“You’ve killed a man.”

Resenting my accusation, she immediately summoned two large, hulking figures to head toward me in her defense. I responded and fled, my powers thoroughly vindicated.


Posted at 1am on 10/11/2005 | comments are closed Filed Under: Fiction

"The sleep of reason
brings forth monsters."

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