5:21 PMC
"The Rat" - Dead Confederate

Perhaps it was my overactive imagination. Maybe my fear of religion or my sudden realization that I'd lost it. Maybe the incredible sense of loss and nothingness I felt when the words finally blurted out of me before I could stop myself still torments me. Whatever the case, it's sign after sign after torment after sign. I have nightmares. I've suffered from nightmares since I was seven. Thirteen years changes nothing in my subconcious mind besides the intesity of the fear, the grotesqueness of the images, and the sense of nakedness afterwards. To this morning and its fun. By the way, most of this might not make sense. Allow me clarify, it's a dream, a nightmare, however you want to see it. A product of my overactive imagination and my fear, or lack thereof, of religion. I added some strings of sentences to make the story more cohesive and forward moving but all of the important parts are there.

All For The Show.

I could've sworn I was watching this on T.V. a second ago. I looked around at what surrounded me now. There was no couch, no television, no remote, nothing. Just three men in a group with period clothing on and rifles conversing about how it had happened. The trees were green but when I looked at everything it all seemed fuzzy. Like when you barely wake up and it feels like your eyes are swollen against the pillow. The dirt road to my left was paler than usual, almost khaki, the earth was so dry. I watched and listened to the men. The short, pudgy one interrupted the taller blonde one,

"No, no! You fall first, then I do. Only one survives."
"Are you sure?" says the blonde.
"Positive." He reassures him.

I take several steps backwards as the group seperates and takes up there previously discussed positions. The blonde one runs to my right toward the outer perimeter of trees and falls to the ground face first. His rifle inches from his fingers. I watched this spectacle unsure what to make of it when a child kneels next to him. She surprises me with her appearance infusing herself into the image like an apparition of a dearly departed. The short pudgy one takes only a few steps in my direction without seeing me, stops ten feet away, turns his back on me, and lets himself fall to the ground with a loud "thump" that should've made him flinch. His rifle rolls away from his left hand into the grass. In my mind I feel the small whispered word "priest." The third man, the one with the dark hair, walks away unscathed by the other men's actions. The small, barefoot apparition walks in my direction but says nothing, her eyes fixated on something behind me.

I didn't hear his approaching footsteps or hear him call to her. She merely ran to Him like a missing child to her father. He caught her as she jumped into his arms and wound her little fingers in his hair and robes. I couldn't understand what was happening. Where the hell am I? I could feel his smile when the child finally released Him and I walked away hurt. Just then a voice startled me. A hard smack filled the air and I knew it was from him to me. My brother. I could hear it and taste where my teeth made contact with my cheek with his blow but I couldn't feel it. Like my circulatory system ran on Novacaine instead of blood. I could feel the sensations of being touched but I couldn't actually feel it. All the crushing sensations of emotions and contrived feeling without the discomfort of physical pain or a physical body, for that matter. I fell to the ground from the blow and heard my brother apologize to me. "I'm sorry but it has to be done for the show." Just then the same dark haired, tan skinned aparrition appeared at his side trying to pull his hands away from me. Almost like he could hear her thoughts he turned to her and screamed the words, "I'm sorry! I have to!" He grabbed both my wrists and tied them together to a giant radio tower that, like everything else in this dream, was appearing out of nothing. I looked at the child, unable to speak, begging for help with my eyes but there was nothing she could do. I could see it on her face; her strength was nothing to his. Like fighting air. I cried when the noose went around my neck and was tied to a barrel. There he lit the rope and I watched in horror as the fire spread quickly down the rope. I pulled and tugged and scratched but nothing. I lay there helpless watching Him walk away from me, the child hesitating behind him.

So that's it. I thought. No one will help. It's just me and my thoughts here. Unwilling to give, I pushed myself from the ground and pulled again when the fire finally reached my hair and neck a blood curdling scream escaped me. DAMN YOU DAMN YOU DAMN YOU. It was a mantra in my head. A background noise to the screaming until the rope finally fell to ashes around me. Still pulling, not expecting the sudden break, I fell to the grass. Grateful to my own strength and nothing more. I clawed at the grass until finally reaching the dirt road and looked around. No one was there anymore. Not the dead confederates or the girl or her Father. Even my brother's torment was gone as quickly as it had come. It's all for the show. The words bounced in my skull like an echo in an empty room.

Silently the scene dissolved and of the mist was born a new one. I walked into a warehouse that reminded me of the Restaurant Depot except this would be where churches came to shop. The Church Depot. I giggled to myself at my humiliatingly stupid joke as I walked through the building. Only when I tried to move forward did I actually feel how cramped the space was. In every direction stood the Virgin Mary carrying her infant Jesus, a dark nun clutched a book and a rosary staring at nothing in particular before her but with the wisdom of a thousand years on her face. A saintly looking monk walked with Bible in hand down a never ending patch of grass. Everything screamed holy except me. I kept walking until I found him, the owner. A ginger man that looked like he always had a smile on his face. Like tragedy never touched him.

"I see you found the place alright. Follow me." He waved one long fingered hand at me to follow him. I did for lack of anything better to do finding that the building wasn't all about statues. Several seats and upholstered couches appeared out of nothing beside us. I continued surveying the items until losing myself in them. I looked up startled to find that I wasn't following anyone. Fuck. I walked forward, searching until a rumbling growl emitted a giant head. A creature with rows of sharp teeth and bleeding red eyes stared back at me, growling. I screamed and crouched to the floor frightened. I tried to make myself as tiny as I felt against the demon, feeling my heart pound against my chest like an explosion waiting to happen. I could hear the taunting, the movement, the growling until finally it just ended with the taunting. My brothers again. I'm never going to catch a break, am I?

"I didn't think you'd get so afraid. It looks good right? I made it by hand with plaster and stuff." I watched shocked at this horrible little man's trickery as he pulled the giant head off and chuckled to himself. It wasn't so much the surprise that frightened me but the feeling that every little demon inside myself felt like it looked just like that creature. It hurt me to know that my brothers would taunt me about something as serious as that. What did they know about my inner demons? What did they know about loss? I whimpered quietly to myself until reaching a room full of more religious statues and artifacts. The room was warm like a church. Wood lined the walls and two small pews stood in the middle of them creating the sensation of a small confessional. The only thing that protested otherwise was the religious figures tossed about in storage and the wide window that held a view to another room of the same proportions and holding the same items. Overwhelmed by the sanctity of it all I walked out to find my brothers amidst the cushioned couches and an old record player the size of a nice living room cabinet. I walked to them and was surprised to see them gawking at something. I looked in the general direction and saw nothing but air and statues.

Just then I noticed the eerie silence. So quiet you could almost hear your ears ringing against it trying to convince you, "it's not as quiet as you think." I looked around again and noticed something different. The statues. They looked alive. Animated. Their eyes were all wide and some of the saints mouths hung open. I let out an audible gasp. The little apparition from the forest appeared just then. I hovered behind her like a spirit sensing she was the only sane one here. Her face was composed, almost smug, as she stared in the same direction of everyone else. Just what the hell is everyone looking at?! I was frustrated that everyone could see but me. I walked into the space and felt a small stir of wind. Almost like there was a presence there and you could feel the emptiness of the place it occupied. This time angry at having missed it and unwilling to be part of the spectable, I went back to the confessional room and was unsettled to find the same expression on all the statues there. Staring behind me like whatever had everyone in a trance had followed me here. I screamed at the statues. "Stop it!" but they held their stare. I opened the curtain to the next room and found the statues faces pressed against the glass. I pounded on it hoping to break them but nothing happened. Angry and frightened I closed the curtain and ran out of the room again.

Again the same stares greeted me. The same gawking at something I couldn't and wouldn't see. A hysterical laugh came out of me as I spinned around at all the gawking. Then I felt like I understood finally. He was laughing at me. He was toying with me. Sending me in different directions with sign after sign. Telling me to follow Him. To see Him. Nu uh. Not anymore. I thought to myself. I looked at everyone and saw that they were no longer staring behind me, wide eyed but they were watching the owner of the building. He carried a small hero sandwich in his left hand and spoke in phrases I couldn't hear and felt that even if I could hear I wouldn't understand them. In that short second I caught a small glimpse of something. A glow maybe, an aura? Something behind the owner's eyes that wasn't his. I couldn't stand it. Everyone saw Him. Everyone felt Him. Everyone heard Him. Everyone but me. I was obstinate. Unwilling to let myself believe. I growled in frustration and grabbed the owner's sandwich and tossed it to the ground as His fleeting spirit escaped, smiling again. I cursed him. I cursed him like I did this sustinence. I smashed my foot into the sandwich like a three year old on a tantrum, letting my anger propel my actions. I crushed it hoping He understood me. Hoping He would leave me alone. He's taunting me. I thought. He knows I can't see Him and He plays with me. His fleeing aura woke everyone up as I ran to the confessional with the owner on my heels.

"Tear down this wall!" I screamed at him. He stared at me confused, I probably looked like a real head case now. "Tear down this wall! He's behind this wall. I know He is! Tear it down!"

That did it. No one was watching me anymore. Again they stared at the space I indicated. I collected a mallet and began crashing down the wood and sheetrock. Placing all my anger and frustrations and fears into the blows. By the time most of the wall was destroyed I looked up and caught a fleeting image of Him. God Incarnate in all his glory hidding behind a wall while all the statues animated themselves only to stare at his overwhelming light. I couldn't look. I didn't want to. He was too bright and I was too angry and too lost. My body hadn't been my own since the beginning. I was a ghost that hung to nothing but my former owner's tragedies. I cried. I screamed. And I cursed Him again. Unwilling to be part of the spectacle.

You laugh at me. I thought amid another hysteric scene.

"And after eight days again his disciples were within, and Thomas with them:
Then came Jesus, the doors being shut, and stood in the midst,
And said, 'Peace be unto you.'
Then saith he to Thomas,
'Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands;
And reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side:
And be not faithless, but believing.'
And Thomas answered and said unto Him,
'My Lord and my God.'
Jesus saith unto him,
'Thomas, because thou hast seen me, thou hast believed:
Blessed are they that have not seen, and yet have believed.'"
- John 20:26-29 King James Version

Life: 05/18/09 | Posted By: blu moon | 0 comments | Personal