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“All of life is a great gift,” he says. “Not because of what it gives us, but because of what it allows us to give others.”
When you’re hungry, goodness is forgotten until you’re not, and the guilt lives in your stomach along with the meat and bread.
Poole begins to answer when the ghoulish creature jerks his head back, exposing a bony throat, and screams with such force that a deputy covers his ears. His back arches impossibly, and Andrew hears the tap-dance clicking of bones, the strained creaking of bedposts as their strength is tested.
Exorcism time fr
“My name is Legion,” Andrew mutters, quoting the passage from the Book of Mark. “For we are many.” In the story, Jesus commanded the demons out of the man and cast them into a herd of two thousand pigs. Driven mad, the pigs rush into a nearby lake and drown.
Something in my vision feels off. It’s like I’m standing on a gently rocking boat (having never actually been on a boat, it’s at least how I would imagine it to be). The entire room seems to sway or, perhaps a better description, pulse. As if the walls are sucking in and out like lungs, the air itself a thumping heart, pulsing in steady, repetitive movements, as if pumping blood.
Dawg the demons are still there
A poisonous barb stuck through my heart that tainted my thoughts, turned my dreams into terror-strewn nightmares.
Oh!
“He’s a sinner!” Poole screams, the serenity of his face coming apart like a shattered mask, revealing a boiling rage. “A blaspheming sinner who has desecrated my chapel!”
Go fuck yourself old man
So much of religion is ceremony that I sometimes wonder if priests like Poole have become so entwined with the process that they’ve forgotten the spirit behind it.
One reason tragedy exists is to teach us how to help others, help others learn how to find a way through their own dark time, through a journey of growth.
Simon, perhaps sensing my fear, turns and smiles down at me. His teeth are silver, his eyes black buttons.
Go away fkn demon!!!!
He wraps the other arm around the head. Holds him tight. Then, he squeezes. Johnson does not feel horror. He feels relief. He feels reborn. The child’s cries become strangled, gagging chokes. Johnson puts his mouth close to the small head entwined within his arms, whispers his dark secret into the dying child’s ear. “I’m already damned.”
WHAT THE FUCK WHAT THE FUCK
“I don’t agree. And even if I did, I’ll never leave the others. They’ll die without us.”
This feels like foreshadowing
He moves his thumb to my forehead. With a shaking finger he makes the mark of the cross. “May God, who has begun the good work within you … bring it to fulfillment.”
why am i crying
Peter’s head settles back into the new snow. A soft exhale escapes his lips. His eyes lose their focus and turn upward to stare, forever, into the blue open sky.
Oh come the fuck on
