by Poppet
“You know what, Victor? Go fuck yourself. Seriously. I do not need your approval for what I do.”
“You don’t need my approval?” I challenge, arching an eyebrow. “So this is how you thank me for saving you from Alpha and his compound? You thank me by telling me to go fuck myself? You thank me by allowing me to sponsor your lavish lifestyle, your luxuries and expensive home, so I can go fuck myself? No Shauna, I think you have it arse about face darling. You are the one I fuck, because you are my wife and we took an oath by law and by God to each other. Do you think I find this new you attractive? The more shit you shovel into your pie-hole the more filth comes out when you speak. Show me respect, woman, because I earned it. I more than earned it.”
“You didn’t earn bugger all! You’re the one who left me! Because of you I was hijacked by your brother! If I hadn’t married you none of this would’ve even have happened to me! It’s your fault! Suck it up, arsehole, because you will never stop atoning for abandoning me for months on end to your insane family!”
So that’s how it’s going to be. The blame game, despite all I’ve done, all I’ve risked, and all I’m doing now to forever right the wrongs of my father.
“Do you hate yourself?” I ask softly.
I am trying to be reasonable and gentle, employing a calm demeanour despite the overwhelming urge to smash her face through that flat-screen until the glass cuts her eyes open. She is blind to the truth, so blind.
“No I don’t!” she yells at me, her neck flushing with anger.
“Then why do you neglect yourself so severely? Look at yourself, Shauna. You’re fat and lazy, and you have no instinct to even maintain a hygienic environment. You’re poisoning yourself and our home.”
“I like food, so fuck you!”
“Is this comfort eating gone horribly wrong? Are you trying to fill a void with food?”
“No Victor! Jesus, what the hell is this? The Spanish inquisition? I’m tired of being perfect, I’m just tired. I don’t care any more!”
“Sloth is a deadly sin, Shauna.”
“I’m aware of that, Victor!” she shouts, finally gifting me her undivided focus.
Smiling now, I ask softly, “Do you know why it’s a deadly sin?”
It has dawned on me during this conversation that my wife has left this marriage. She no longer cares for me or herself. She cares not if I am present or absent, she cares not for herself or her home, and it occurs to me that it’s probably a good thing that we have no pets to rely on her.
I am a trained therapist because my father raised me to be an overachiever, while always feeling like I am underachieving. Shauna has suffered too much. I can’t see the scars buried in her memories and psyche, but I can see the effect of them.
She wants me to experience revulsion so I won’t touch her. She’s pushing me away the only way she knows how, and it’s horrendously passive-aggressive. Her overeating is an unconscious instinct of self preservation; if she’s unattractive she thinks she can’t get hurt by the disciples, but it will destroy her eventually. This is a form of self-mutilation. She’s a self-harmer with a desired end result. She doesn’t want me because she’s too damaged.
No man can win this woman, she’s left the path of desire for mankind and chosen instead a substitute, one that won’t harm her – or so she thinks. But, I’m a doctor and I know what her arteries look like now, I know how her heart labours, her lungs crushed under the excessive weight, and I know she’s killing herself … slowly.
The damage is done and I have a duty to uphold. It’s my yoke to give this fallen angel mercy.
“Piss off,” is her answer.
Staring at her, I know what is about to unfold. “I am sad, Shauna. This …” I wave my hand in her direction while sitting erect and preparing, “…it makes me sad. I tried so hard to make you happy, but even with my heart in your hands it’s not enough for you.”
“Ya think?” she scorns. “You are away for weeks on end, don’t tell me you’re not fucking around on me.”
“I’m not,” I state succinctly.
“Bullshit.”
“It’s the honest truth. I have remained faithful to you from the moment we met. Then I took a vow, and put a ring on your finger so you’d know how much you mean to me.”
She chews her lip, scrutinising me. “Either way I have to take your word for it, and it’s my opinion that all men are arseholes. You run countries into the ground, send children to fight wars, traffic women and pay them less, create a market for child porn and drugs, you worship money more than life, then tell women how to conduct their own reproductive health, ban contraception because of a medieval bloody church decree, allow employers to can a woman from her job for nothing more than her menstrual cycle, and all the while you shove your sanctimonious religious crap down every throat as justification for everything you’ve desecrated. This world had balance before the church pitched its tent. The female was as divine as the masculine, and until this imbalance is rectified this entire world is in misery. I AM IN MISERY!”
“Is this because we don’t have children?” I ask, digging for the root of this issue.
“No, Victor! It’s not because we don’t have kids!” She scrunches up her face to match her sarcastic tone. “It’s because I’m fed up, along with ninety-nine percent of the rest of the women on this planet. Open your eyes and see what men have done! Half this world is fucked up because men can’t keep their dicks in their pants, and then they have the gall to blame women for their transgressions. Covered from head to toe or molested before puberty, take your fucking pick! It’s not women who are the problem, it’s the degenerates like you who think a dick makes you superior. Think again, it makes you inferior because clearly it’s made you all so stupid that you can’t advance past the caveman stage of development! Club it, eat it, or fuck it. And you call yourselves civilised. Spare me the sermon, Victor.”
So she thinks I cheat on her because I have the opportunity to. My wife is a sad and sorry excuse for a human.
Decision made.
Ready, I ask again, “Do you know why sloth is a deadly sin?”
“Because god’s a wanker without hands, that’s why! He can’t jack himself off so he gets really bloody antsy with anyone who can!”
The sweet rhythm of my blood pumps a lullaby in my ears when I point the Glock at her and drop my baritone. Using the voice of Vengeance, I say, “Because his angels kill those who commit sin. You’re guilty of sloth and gluttony, punishable by death.”
Rasp.
She pales so fast that I think her blood pressure just left the premises. Realisation hits her eyes and I pull the trigger without remorse, ridding the world of the despicable aberration and blasphemy known formerly as my wife. The love of my life. My greatest achievement and the first successful step I took on the path of redemption.
One bullet, directly through the pineal gland and into her brain. I use hollow point black talons and they just shredded the delicate grey tissue encased by her skull. She’s mangled and minced, and dead.
He gave her life, and he can take it away. I am his right hand, the one sent to smite sinners, to cleanse this planet of their scourge. I can’t condone self-harming, no matter which guise it adopts. She was in pain, and until now I couldn’t see it.
I may have failed you before, but not this time Shauna.
Standing, I look down on her already vacant eyes. “I loved you. I’ll always love you. You want to know why I did this? Because I love you, Shauna. You don’t have to suffer any longer, you’re free.”
You’re free of me, and him – us. Forever intertwined like Siamese twins. I can’t escape his legacy. It haunts me every step of every day.
He’s won. He ruined my wife, and only now could I see what his actions have achieved. He trained me to harm, she took all she could with me, and then he set on her Seth and himself. She was broken. She was suffering. The trinity destroyed her.
And she hated me.
Grief rises
briefly and I droop to her level, kissing her still warm mouth. “Fly free, angel. You’re dirty no more.”
Turning away, I leave. I have other homes, other lairs, ones she never knew about. I have a palace built of lies, but the truth is the only thing that can set us free. Exiting our nest because there isn’t a single reason to stay, I know it’ll be months before her body is found. She has no friends, no one will miss her. God sure as hell won’t.
Vengeance is Mine, and retribution, In due time their foot will slip; For the day of their calamity is near, And the impending things are hastening upon them. Deuteronomy 32:35
I can’t change who I am. My only sin was attempting to.
I have only one goal now: find my father and end him. He’s going to pay for this. I no longer sanction his delusions, nor am I gullible enough to believe in a religion whose premise ends with the death of everything. Take away the wicked men and the world will know peace. I’ve been hunting the wrong gender.
Shauna was right about that. Patriarchy has sown the seeds of emaciation; spiritually, mentally, emotionally, and physically. Power is a very hard habit to kick, which is why I’m needed. I’m balance. I am Vengeance, and I was born to hunt and destroy.
The followers of Molech have just run out of time on their infinity clocks.
It was not to me that you slaughtered and sacrificed animals for forty years in the desert. It was the tent of the god Molech and the image of Rephan, your star god. Acts 7:42
It’s in the book, but don’t question it. I did, once. It didn’t end well for me, and yet the longer I live the more I can see wisdom for what it is, no matter which book it is printed in. It warns: He will grow strong – but not by his own power. He will cause terrible destruction and be successful in everything he does. Daniel 8:24.
And I call him Father.
I should be ashamed for being so successfully duped, but I’m not. What I am is pissed beyond measure.
Standing outside, breathing in the wonderful aura of crisp and clean air, it dawns on me: I’m forty-three years old and never had a virgin.
Surely the son of God should have a virgin?
How is it that I’ve lived this long and never had my God given right? He gave virgins to the tribes, allowed them to kidnap and assault virgins from all enemy territories, and yet he never gave me one. I’m insulted.
It’s simple really; common sense. Our father certainly is a medical man. If you screw a virgin you won’t be catching itchy crotch or dick cheese syndrome. Screw the undefiled and your sanctity will be preserved.
The old testament was the first time in written history that a virgin meant a woman who had yet to lay with a man – if you ask the ancient Greeks they’d tell you an entirely different definition. A hymen is overrated, personally. It’s an ego game, and I have no time – or interest – in inflating my ego. I have no insecurities – hence no ego to pander to – plus screwing a child would irk me far more than it would satisfy.
Fuck I’m getting old. Suddenly when you’re forty-three the thought of a sixteen year old ‘virgin’ sounds like a headache not worth engaging in.
Smiling at the cosmos I burst out laughing. I never saw it, I was too busy chasing sinners. Now it’s time for me to find myself a pure vessel.
It’s time this angel got himself a virgin.
What mankind have conveniently bastardised is the original meaning of the title: virgin.
It means – a woman belonging to no man.
But I have standards, the next one has to be pure. I’m no longer interested in investing my time in purifying and rectifying wayward tendencies, no, I deserve one who is pure by nature.
Ask and you’ll receive.
Ha. I’m never asking again.
This time I will rely on destiny, because it’s not led me false yet. Ask my father, he’s god, and even He couldn’t kill me.
I’m Lucifer, and I’m ready for the diadem of my birthright.
Looking at the stars far above me I think of Polina. In her heart and head she is innocent, despite the wrongs she has suffered.
She is a virgin in the truest sense of the word. I think it’s time I got her out of Mikah’s house and inside my underground resistance. I agree with her words, I need the sex, and a bed should be a place of peace to rest.
God almighty, I haven’t had rest in all my days. I can’t wait for the battle to be over. Either way I’ll have rest then. In a coffin, or on this Earth. One way or another it’s time I was free too.
~ Chapter 13 ~
The wiser you are, the more worries you have;
the more you know, the more it hurts
~ Ecclesiastes 1:18
Victor:
TWO DAYS OF travelling from Norway and the home I shared with my one and only wife, and I’m finally in the You Ess of Aye.
My father was born here, in the land of the great and not so free. It was fertile ground to raise a psychopath. It taught him how powerful brainwashing and propaganda is. If you repeat a lie for long enough it becomes accepted as truth.
There is no freedom in tithing. If you are tithing to a god or government then you are not free. My father has never tithed, he was always free. You and me, we’re born inside captivity so we cannot fathom the sheer liberation of freedom. We see cages and say they’re there to keep us safe. We hold books with archaic language and call them paths to everlasting life. We humble ourselves for the glorification of something which does not serve us. See there’s the lie. You serve and get told it’s for your own good, all of this is for you. Strip the veneer of peeling paint off the old signs and comprehend what lurks beneath. You serve them, we serve them, they benefit, nothing is for our own liberation. The cogs are not cognisant of the chains embroidering their every waking thought. I know this. Fuck I know it.
I have to keep reminding myself that my foundation is flawed, it’s cracked and deficient. I have a destitute cavern of self. Who am I when I’m not HIS kid? Who am I when I’m not rage and punishment?
Who the fuck am I!?
Everything I was ever taught was for one purpose only: to strip me of my authentic power. I became powerless the day I accepted another to be greater than me. I accepted someone else as superior to myself – my life, my purpose, my everything.
I called him Father, and God, and Alpha. By default of my conditioning I ensured that I believed I was not first and never would be. I was named the last, the Omega. I accepted it!
Why?! Out of fear of death, of pain, and in a futile attempt to avoid suffering. I was raised bleeding on snow for questioning him, for defying him, for daring to have a life outside of him.
We did psychology, we had to to get inside the heads of the women we persecuted, and yet if for one moment I stepped back to view the larger picture, to step outside of the frame to see the whole – I would have seen this as classic narcissistic abuse. He didn’t just brutalise my body, he brutalised my mind, logic, and soul.
On my knees I worshipped him, I thanked him, and allowed him his dominion. There’s no challenge in that. That’s why I became expendable. My payment was a bullet. My sacrifices amount to nought. I’m awake now. The blind follower is no longer sightless. The blind man can see, the deaf can hear, it’s a fucking miracle! I can see through the lie of my life! I am conditioned … and now I will not just bite the hand that held me down, I’m gonna cut it clean off.
I was mentally and physically conditioned for subservience - from birth. Without it I am adrift, finding only one purpose; take down the Alpha who ruined my life and tried to take it all from me.
Fuck!
I don’t know how to define myself. First and foremost I was the son of god. Without that as a distinguishing facet of my purpose on Earth, who the fuck am I? I don’t know.
I know I am angry, seething in fact, and fighting down a bile borne of severe wrath. I’m pissed off that no matter what I did for him, how much I put him first, how I designed my life and purpose to please him and make him proud – my reward was dea
th. He thought I was dead until I blew my cover by bombing his sanctuary in Utah. We RPG’d the fuck out of that place to save the woman he raped. My wife! My father fucked my wife. Jesus christ!
My life is so shit I couldn’t even write a memoir. No one would believe it, they’d call it a crap attempt at authoring fiction.
I risked my resurrected life to save her, only to have her turn her back on everything I respect the second I began a new mission – of destroying the church my father erected. I think of it as the shadow church. It’s based on the same principles, following the same god, but perverted. All ideologies soured to fanaticism become perverted.
You know what the martyr got for turning the other cheek? Death! He got dead is what he got. Deliverance is just that. You are expected to deliver on your word. Like me. I should be in an unmarked grave. Jude risked ridicule and persecution for me. All my life I turned the cheek, I took Alpha’s abuse, and it got me in a coma where I should have perished.
When you are willing to die for the father you get exactly what you decree. If you worship anyone, or anything, that expects you to die for their cause, expect to. It’s not an idle promise, it’s a death sentence. Stand and deliver. Your blood, your sacrifice, your life over before it truly began – before you can question why you’re doing this shit and getting nothing for your effort.
It’s such a clever scam that I can see exactly why my father was drawn to it. A psychopath will always be drawn to the world’s most successful get rich scheme. It’s so easy. Sell a book, enforce the book with pain and death and torture for centuries, promise a product that no one can see – smell – touch, when they scorn your product for being the Emperor’s New Clothes make an example of the heretic, and also accuse them of not having enough faith.
You’re sold an insurance policy you can’t use now because it promises you a good afterlife. You are buying into a paradise insurance scam for something that no one can prove exists, against a threat of damnation that no one can prove either, and you’re throwing money at it because it makes you look good.
