۲۷-۰۳-۹۴، ۱۲:۵۷ ب.ظ
Out into cold, dark Christmas Eve, straight from rough sex in a stranger’s bed–bleeding from wounds no longer felt; probably still bled–no feeling; unfeeling.
Following the crowd, as she always did, looking for a party–anywhere, anyone, anything sooner than go “home”; (easily) led, into the big church (sold) down–by the river; believe it or not, had wanted once to be a vicar; in this church with the ritual–the incense–the gaudy color, she would have felt like a high priestess–but this religion shunned women; she should have been incensed, but wasn’t.
Keeping head down, she stumbled to sit down end of pew (take a pew) nearest aisle –she wouldn’t budge, so people had to squeeze past her. She looked up at last–statues a blur, making her feel sick–too much to drink; was queasy with unease. Her vision (poor) of wooden Christ–swimming (couldn’t he walk on water?) before her eyes, head (hers not his) spinning. She was dying to spew up.
Inappropriately attired in short skirt, low cut top, and unsuitably, given the weather, thin, open, cropped jacket and high heels, she teetered down the aisle (here comes the bride…) hell-bent on taking Communion. The priest, swaying, seemed to pitch up and down, as if on a (fishing) boat, on troubled water. She was determined to take Communion; was hell-bent on it.
She knelt, legs weak, paining her, waiting to receive the Host: had premonition it would be tough and greasy, (thought she could smell fat cooking) making her gag, becoming lodged in her throat when tried to swallow it (if she could, it would be a miracle)–like story–whole. She held it in her mitten, shoved it in her pocket, with money–threatening to burn hole in it: loose change, but not for better; short-changed. She wouldn’t refuse more wine, though.
Sweat on clammy forehead, legs trembling, she took the wine into her mouth, didn’t taste sickly sweet (didn’t like red) as expected–it was dry as dust, with metallic tang, like rust–corrosive as it burned roof of mouth, throat–was hot, felt like acid. So hot; what should have been a warm glow in chest, felt like wild fire spreading, heart wrapped in flame–such pain! Her stomach roiling, in hot turmoil…
She coughed, spluttered, bringing up wine with night’s booze and recent food: was sick over person kneeling next to her (love thy neighbor). The congregation collectively drawing in breath, followed by a deafening, sickened silence descending on her like wrath of God. She struggled up and rushed out into cold, dark night–which would be her day, from here on in; forever.
Coming to a standstill, panting, wrapped in eerie silence, as intense, desperate hunger or raging thirst grew. She must remember, in eternal future, to stick to everyday (night), ordinary mortal blood: needed, wanted, craved mortal blood… she looked up to snow-laden heavens… then, head down, nose to the ground, disappeared stealthily into the shadows, would embrace the darkness and new faith…
Let us prey.
و دیگر آسمان را نخواهی دید...