Saint Joan by Bob MacKenzie for J. S. In the beginning, you seem void and without form; you only slowly grow clear and material against the brilliant light behind you, not sun but floodlamp of Lucifer that shows you your way. You become a world of contradictions made flesh to creep slowly over your prey and to take it, betrayed by your venom, deep into the darkness where darkly you pick it apart at your leisure. You are small in your body and small in your mind, with a sweet middle aged smile and honey voice; you cut your hair short or it would be in a bun, and you wear drab fashions that imitate a nun. You know you are the saviour of little children, absolved in whatever you do by your own faith; you know you are the saviour of little children; you know you must destroy all who stand in your way. From your father onward, you know the way men are; from your childhood onward, you know the violence family life does to any child, did to you; you know you are the saviour of little children. To save the children you must crush the families, you must take the children to your bile filled bosom, where they may suckle of hate and fear and see life in the light of your knowledge, in Lucifer's light. Yours is the greatest agency under Heaven, transporting children to its bowels forever; the Devil in this world controls what you do, as you save the children and Lucifer lights your way. You do not see the small spot appear on your heart, do not see it grow larger, void and without form, do not see yourself falling deep into that pit, do not see the light of Lucifer falling dark. |