The Ritual

by Adam L.G. Nevill

Phil paused on the first of the stairs on his way up, and fingered a dark crucifix. As if to himself, he said, ‘You’d think they’d make you feel safe. But they don’t.’

He would do this for these men he had once loved like brothers, even if they weren’t his friends any more.

Luke sat still and tried to regulate his breathing. The rage was strangling him again. When he felt like this, he wondered if, one day, he might actually kill someone.

But still, he craved it all. It was at the heart of his unhappiness, his despair. He would probably die incomplete, undecided, and disappointed.

‘I’m just so angry. All the time now. You ever felt like that?’

He remembered the surprise, the shock, the fear, the hurt. Like a child’s face. When we’re frightened and hurt are we ever anything else?

‘It’s like you said, it’s all about P.R. these days. Brand management. Social networking. The corporatization of our own experience. We’re all our very own communications directors. But what a load of bollocks it all is when you’re faced by something like this.’

Everyone is fucked up, Luke. Damaged. We’re all messed up, underneath. Doesn’t matter what kind of house you live in.’

But losers just wanted to swap places with anyone above them in the hierarchy.

If only we could all stand up. All of us who have died unjustly for the Gods of the insane. There would be so many of us.