by Poppet
In Isaiah forty-three verse eighteen, it says, 'Do not cling to events of the past or dwell on what happened long ago. Watch for the new thing I am going to do.' That's my cue.
She thinks we are blind. On the chain hidden inside her cleavage is a pentagram. Father warned her. She sits here week after week in the middle pew, next to the royal blue stained glass window, bathed in ethereal light, pretending she's never heard Deuteronomy seven. 'Do not worships their gods, for that would be fatal,' verse sixteen.
Father marked me, and it's my duty to carry out his promise. She worships the moon, and it is fatal. Isaiah forty-four verse five warns her about me. 'Each one will mark the name of the Lord on his arm and call himself one of God's people.'
I've had this mark since my seventh day on Earth.
Her name should have been Asherah. It's my birthright to tear down her altars and crumble them into chalk. She is a hypocrite. Pretending piety, only to go to gatherings on the beach at full moon and new moon. Greeting her friends with a Merry Meet. She calls herself a Gardnerian. Following the teachings of a man who believed in worshipping naked, inducing trances with endless stings on a bent over pert bottom, as the way to worship the divine.
I'll show her divine. I will reveal the fatality of worshipping a false god. She's had ample time to repent, to change her ways. I know her routine, leaving the suffocating atmosphere of sinners coming to wipe the slate clean this Sunday, I walk away from the multicoloured sinner stained in the light of the window showing the dove baring the olive branch.
"I beg your pardon." I stammer after deliberately bumping into her as she exits her magical store for dragon's blood and herbs.
"No problem." She stoops to retrieve the bag, checking that no bottles are broken.
Turning on the charm, I give her my bone melting smile, holding her elbow as if trying to protect her from passers by, "Please. I feel awful. You look like you could use a cup of coffee. Care to join me?"
Wary grey eyes survey mine. "I really need to get going."
"I'm Victor. Let me make it up to you."
She shakes the hand I offer, "Um, okay."
I return her unsure smile, walking companionably with her to the Mugg & Bean. "I couldn't help but notice where you do your shopping. Are you Wiccan?" I deliberately drop my eyes to stare at the silver pentagram hanging from her neck. She fingers it self-consciously.
"Yes, I am."
It's obvious she's expecting judgement. A guilty conscience is hard to hide. Beating her at her own game, "What a coincidence. So am I. I'm Gardnerian. You?"
Her footsteps falter as warmth floods her demeanour, "So am I."
In an ironic twist, I have planned her death for 3:33 a.m. I have wooed her with dinner, discussed the beauty of nature with her, and listened to all the reasons why she worships the Earth's cycles. She worships what God made, instead of God. Misguided, but resolute and unwavering in her beliefs. I took her to the warehouse, under the guise of it being out in nature, a place for us to worship in nakedness without interference.
She greets me first, kissing the pentagram onto my skin. As she kneels to kiss the rod, I knee her in the face. Blood begins spouting from her nose. Her kind believe the magical number is three, and do everything in threes. Glancing at my watch, I get to work.
"It's time to die the way you worship. Isaiah forty-six, 'I am the one who made the earth and created mankind to live there. By my power I stretched out the heavens; I control the sun, the moon and the stars.' "
Tying her hands behind her back, and then securing her feet to the log, I retrieve my belt, thrashing her with the silver buckle. Her pleas and cries fall on deaf ears. I do not care. Crucify those that don't comply. Death in the same manner of the false god they worship and bow down before.
When her flesh is livid and bleeding, I ask, "Is your trance induced yet?"
"Please, don't do this."
"Cling to your faith, Faith. Let your false god deliver you. If it cannot deliver, I am here to deliver you to the only one who can forgive you your transgressions. Even Matthew warned you, I have watched you in church Faith. I'm the witness to your crimes. In Matthew six verse five he told you, 'When you pray, you must not be like hypocrites, for they love to pray standing in the synagogues, that they may be seen by people. Truly I tell you, they have their reward in full already'. Isaiah warned you, 'These people honour me with their lips, but their hearts hold off and are far distant from me.' Did you think God's angels weren't watching you?"
She mocks me when she states, "Forgive them father, for they know not what they do."
Vengeance overwhelms me, and I punch her full in the face. Feeling the bone dissolve under the force, I am grateful for the leather glove that prevents my skin from breaking open. Unable to stop, I repeat the process, grinding her altar to chalk, pulverising the form she misuses which Alpha bestowed on her.
Wiping the blood off the gloves, I remind her corpse, "Do not worship their gods, for that would be fatal."
That was a long time ago. Before I became a homeopath. Father was right though. The biggest sinners are hypocrites. I should have destroyed her on the altar of the church she went to for appearance sake. Or did she appease her conscience simply through attendance? Fooling herself that God's eyes are blind?
Father is never blind.
Staring at Shauna, I pause. Maybe she is the one. She goes blind during orgasm. Does this mean Father has already blinded her when she sins? So that she may know only darkness?
My approach is wrong. She should be having orgasms, to keep her in the dark. Smiling widely, I run my hand up her thigh, wedging it between her legs. When we get home, it's time to try something new.
Chapter 25
A day of vengeance, that He may avenge Himself on His adversaries. And the sword shall devour, and it shall be satiated and shall drink its fill of their blood.
~Jeremiah 46:10
She shunned me. Just when Father reveals his wondrous genius to me, the stupid little bitch tells me she's tired. Choosing to go home and sleep. To recover, she says.
I am her maker. I have given her intense attention to detail and my coveted time, and the harlot brushes me off like a casual suitor too eager for her pleasures. How delusional is that tiny mind of hers? Can she not see who I am! Who the fuck does she think she is? I'll give her a bloody good reason to come knocking on my door tonight. I have my own keys and can open her sliding door and gate again, and then I'll accuse her of forgetfulness.
Cheap whore! I take the time to purge her and she dares reject me!
Watching as she sleeps, I dress. This time there will be no mercy. Rage blinds me, the leather too hot, stifling. Vengeance is mine. Let her feel my punishment. I can find her anywhere, and I'll take her whenever I choose. I have the power of the Almighty. His hand protects and guides me. I am invincible! Does she really think she can escape me for one second?
Quietly I open the door to my balcony, checking to see if her door is open. Pathetic. She left it open. Subconsciously she knows I'm due to visit her and repay her selfishness with my own.
I'm coming angel. Tonight our blood covenant will be different. Tonight you are going to scream my name in pain.
I keep my hand clamped on her throat as she wakes. Large eyes stare up at me. No pity for you, my girl.
"If you so much as speak, I will end your life. Do you understand me?"
She jolts her head with difficulty. I can smell the panic rising off her in waves.
"If you scream for that man to come to your rescue, he'll die too. You don't want that do you?"
She shakes her head.
"Why am I here? Do you know?"
Her head jerks the negative response.
"You think I can't see you. I can always see you. I'm going to discipline you for defying me. You can never defend yourself against God. I am Vengeance. His Vengeance. I am the sword sent out to cut the wicked fruit from the tree of life." I give her neck a squeeze of emphasis.
"You are wicked! I see you tempting and teasing him. Is he your next victim? I'm watching him now too. He's not very pleased with you. I'm not going to let you break another heart. This is a lesson you will never forget. I didn't purify you, to watch you toy with another man's mind. I purified you so you would cease those evil ways."
I use my left hand to strike her as hard as I dare through the face. Her wince is melodic and arousing.
"My last words to you were, Remember that the Lord your God corrects and punishes you just as a father disciplines his children. Deuteronomy 8:5. Now I'm here to discipline you. Because you are a disobedient child. I am your master, and you will not defy me again."
She nods, her eyes wide, tears escaping and running over cheeks. Pathetic. Why do I bother? My own lessons would have broken this weakling. That's what she needs. A Father's touch will set her straight.
Squealing accosts my hearing as I withdraw my hand, the tight fist coiled by strength. Releasing it, I keep her held down by the throat, releasing my knuckles into the weakness. Sitting on her, holding her down, slapping her head left, right – left, with clenched fists. I love leather, such a practical material.
She cries out between sobs. "No … please …"
"We are past the begging stage. I have shown you enough mercy. You take advantage of mercy."
Grabbing her hair I pull her off the bed, she crumples like a rag doll, limbs awry, her face contorted, grunting, whining, pleading. What is this? The little bitch is trying to scratch me!
A swift kick to her knee releases her hold. Her pitch rising to a scream. Grabbing her neck again I haul her up off the floor. Dangling her feet in mid-air. I am this strong, bitch. I can hold you up with one fucking hand. I could snap this neck with consummate ease.
"I said no screaming." Nailing my point I smack her across her bedroom with the force of one punch. Shaky whimpers emanate from the lump. Deliberately I create metal noise, undoing my belt buckle and pulling the strap out, winding the leather end around my hand once.
Angry, you make me so goddamn angry. How dare you reject me! I'll teach you the difference between master and servant.
Despite curling herself into a foetal ball, the harsh slapping of my rage using the improvised whip, hit the mark. Shins, thighs, face, back, arms.
"You can't escape God, Shauna. Now look what you've done. You force me to discipline you."
Slap, crack, slap. Low wailing moaning responds to the belt.
"I'm sorry. I'm … sorry."
"It is God who executes vengeance for me and who brought down and disciplined the peoples under me, 2 Samuel 22:48."
Wrenching her hair, hauling her up and thrusting her back on the bed, I knee her abdomen before snapping her head back with my fist on her chin. "And if in spite of all this you still will not listen and be obedient to Me, then I will chastise and discipline you seven times more for your sins. Leviticus 26 verse 18."
Endless moaning. Broken sobbing. For fuck's sake. You can be grateful I'm your maker and not Father.
Forcing her chin so she stares up at me I slap her repeatedly until her face is covered with hair matting blood.
"I purged you of all your evil. I took the time to save you from damnation, exorcising you, and showing you the endless love God has for you. Do you return that love? Is it possible for you to end your selfish habits? You mock mankind with the way you love. Did I teach you nothing?"
Gripping her slim neck I press harder, it's an illusion that she's suffocating. Keeping her still with force, I use a blade from the surgery to cut off her underwear. She squirms, shuddering as I caress her skin with the blade.
"I'm taking you this time. Purging you myself, from the inside."
Manoeuvring her around, I thrust her face into the bedding, presenting her by shoving pillows underneath her hips, keeping a firm hand on the back of her neck. "Can you see how forgiving God is? I never stop coming back to help you, to give you another chance at redemption. My love is endless."
Father told me of how it's a woman's way to struggle against the teachings. Yet he could have had many wives, but he simply chose one, and she fought him when it was time to conceive. He covered her head to hide her shame. The veil she wore could not hide her sin. They are born sinners, it's our duty to ensure they don't die as sinners. He is with me always, giving me strength when I feel weak. He gives me rage to give me the courage to overcome the affection I feel for her. Disciplining her is necessary. She rejected the son of God. She's lucky I'm allowing her to live! I'll be as violent and brutal as the task requires. It's cleansing time. She's contaminated with evil, and I have the power to place inside her the antidote to that contamination.
Absently I press the hollow, preparing her for the gift of my seed and purging. Planting a new seed inside her to expel the old. Better than a mustard seed, this one will not fall on hard ground, it will blossom, I'm sharing the grace with her. The high pitched squeal dissipates into the duvet smothering her face when I'm forced to press the bruises. Despite her feigned fear, her body is ready, saturating the dark with musk. She cannot lie, she adores the purging. Her body betrays her.
Forcing entrance, I delve to excavate the evil from her, gripping the bruises, each time I do she tightens, making my task that much more enjoyable. I live to obey Father and do his bidding, and I'm beginning to see how service to him can be enjoyable even if it's a sufferance. Allowing her a moment of air, I pull her head away from the bedding with a malicious tug on the hair tight in my grasp. After all, I work for a giving God. It's unfortunate that I must beat her, connecting her back with buckle lashes as I purge her with my own body. Pulling out I twist her over, slapping her thrice with all the muscle effort I can muster, one hand on her mouth stifling the howl as tears of baptism run free, glistening her eyelashes with moisture.
Removing my full weight off her, she seems to float in and out of consciousness. Closing my armour again, I bend over her, twisting the earring in her ear so the pain brings her back to awareness. Blank eyes stare at me, even in this light I can see bruising adding to the others, now covering her wrists and neck. I love her lips swollen like that.
Using my abrasive gruff voice, I whisper into the ear, "Shauna, if you break his heart, I'll come back and break you so that you never walk again."
Swiftly, collecting my belt, I disappear into the night through her open balcony. Rushing back to the observation darkroom to see how soon she'll come rushing to my door, begging me to help her. She'll see how much she needs me. Only Victor is dependable. Only Victor understands.
Chapter 26
My best work is often almost unconscious and occurs
ahead of my ability to understand it.
~Sam Abell (Photographer)
Absently running surgical wipes over the leather, I wait for her to move. To run to me. I can hear the muffled sobbing through the speakers. Gold wire leading to Infinity speakers, crystal clear clarity. Hopefully she's having some crystal clear clarity of her own now.
Huddled tightly in a ball on her bed, I wait, losing my patience with the endless sobbing. An hour and twenty-five minutes of non stop shuddering breaths and plaintive weeping. Finally the foetal form moves.
Inching slowly, ragged gasping punctuated with whimpers, I see shaking fingers grip the bed tightly, her thin arms quivering with effort as she pulls herself forward.
Just stand up. Stop being so bloody dramatic.
She slides onto the floor, a hand clenched tightly over her stomach, as she begins to crawl with mind numbing slowness. It's like watching a chameleon that can't decide if it wants to take two steps back before taking one forwards. Literally she hovers between movement, tears streaming, shining her face into pearlescent beauty.
"See how wealthy I make you? Ungrateful woman."
Her voice and breathing are still mixed together, little whimpers of broken breath, as if inhaling and movement are painful. Why are women so despicably weak? Are they all this pathetic? There's no one to see this, so why put o
n a show?
"God's wrath hurts doesn't it? He is a jealous and vengeful God. Sometimes you just have to learn this the hard way, angel."
I am still angry she pushed me to this. Thumping a bitter hand on the desk I yell at her pitiful image, "Look what you made me do to you!"
She collapses, wrapping her face in her own fingers as a moan of agony haunts my darkroom in chilling pain. Shivers run through me, my interest captivated now. Leaning closer I inspect the rendition on the LED screen before me.
Slowly the hands sag to flop loosely at her sides, and I see her face. I'm shocked. Frozen in disbelief at the puffy, bloody and rapidly bruising face of my angel.
Reaching out to touch it, my head shakes in denial, "No."
She inches forward again, keening moans accusing me. Violent trembling accompanies every move of limb. Getting onto her knees and lifting her torso up with a grunt to reach the bathroom light switch.
Changing screens I watch as she pulls her legs into the room. Whimpering all the while. Jolting brokenly like a short circuiting robot, crawling to the loo. She wretches into it. Coughing, spluttering, a low howl swirls through the room again. Using it for support she pushes and pulls herself off the floor before sagging over the basin, running cold water. The water runs red. Scarlet rivulets trace her arms like grotesque veins. Short screams intersperse the rinsing of her mouth. Lifting her head to stare into the mirror, straight at me, she rolls her bottom lip down with fingers shaking so violently I can't focus on them. I stare at the mess. The belt has cut her arms. Puce welts criss-cross over the creamy skin.
