Insufferably hot. Hot like the blood that poured out of my ruined face that summer years ago. Hot like the tears of childhood after my father, on a drunken binge, had beaten me. Hot like the warm life I drank from them. Hot like feeling I got the first time God spoke to me in my head, urging me to clkeanse the sinners.
Summer in New York is a blessing for me – everything stinks and rots in the streets, making my smell less noticeable. It was a busy night of stupidity, and the heat of summer had the neighborhood fuckwads all wound up. The stupid Irish started some trouble, committing random acts of violence and degradation against a woman ( I am certain that she was a whore and likely asked for it in some outfit that exposed all of her ‘assets’). I made certain that the young and brash Ricans didn’t let this pass, trying honey and then fire to inspire them to revenge. They purgesd a liquor store of its sinful wares while I purged the owner of his blood.
There was much deviltry going on here under the watch of the previous vassal. I don’t know what demon he summoned but it has the power to take the bodies of the damned and use them against them. While I am sure that the Lord has reasons for this, it escapes my feeble immortal brain to divine the message he hopes to deliver. Perhaps a warning to the damned that even their sins are not beyond notice or punishment.
Stupid fucks summoned something horrible and then cringed when they couldn’t force it back into its cage. The Lord allowed it to punish them and send them on to a well deserved hell. One of them has left behind a pride of ghouled felines, and the whore insists that we should keep them to protect against something called the unholy. The old man and the heathen believe we should kill them off. The hypocrite sided with the whore. I am unsure where I stand as God has not offered any hints on what to do with cats that eat the Damned. Surely it can’t be a bad thing as long as it isn’t his servant being eaten. And even then, perhaps I would have deserved it for my pride in being an instrument of his wrath.
No amount of self-punishment can free me from the wrongs I have done. I question sometimes whethere God speaks with me or if I am really as mad as the others think. Doubt is certainly a counter to faith, and I have some at the moment. Perhaps my brain just could not handle the familial abuse and then this damnation. Or perhaps the Lord simply tests me to see if I am truly worthy of redemption or if I will just slide into sin as so many before me appear t have done. I shall pray more on this and perhaps offfer up some personal suffering as penance for my doubts.