~Disclaimer- None of this is real! :3
Based on a true story
I wish i could see the things Catholics see. They knew what was wrong with me as soon as they laid eyes on me. "Evil!" They would blaze onto my chest! "Evil!" Their eyes would sear through my chest when I walked down my conformist neighborhood. Evil...so what is good? A man gives me things that I don't even have to work for. All I have to do is ask him and he hands it to you on a silver platter and all I have to do is pick a point on my wall, pretend I'm looking into someone's eyes and say "I believe in you?" Sounds hell'a easy enough! I did it only once and nothing happened. I certainly wasn't going to make a fool of myself again, yelling at the top of my lungs asking repeatedly if the man in the clouds can hear me. So i dropped the entire concept. Refused to believe, because this man refused to give me my red Ferrari. This is when I was 5.
As I grew up, and reached my age of adolescence, I tended to separate myself from the conformist civilization they called high school. I guess I always knew that something about me was different, wrong. I guess this divine being that I refused to believe in knew it too because he punished me. Punished me bad.
It got me. The evil took over me. I was possessed....at least I think I was possessed. My parents were born again Christians, straight out from the pit of gin and alcohol. They rushed me to the church when I told them the devil had called upon me, muttering under their breath how I should have conformed with them, how I called this upon myself, I think I even remember my mom bringing out a bottle of alcohol latched from under her seat. All I could think was, "How long had that been there." The exorcism was quick and hardly painless. The preached danced around and sprinkled some water around the church, chanting to himself. It reminded me of when I would dance around with my friends in kindergarten pretending to be Indians so when I snickered to myself, I guess he took it to offense and yelled at me. "Leave!" He yelled in my face. His eyes burned through me with great intensity. All I could do is stare with astonishment. I almost stuttered, "My ride is feeling a little tipsy at the moment and I don't have my license," but something told me that wouldn't be smart. This dragged on for an hour, but I could feel it working. My eyes went up to the tall high ceiling of the church and met with the eyes of the man on the cross. I stared into those eyes, and when I stared at it for 10 seconds without blinking I considered myself cleansed. I took a sigh of relief and the priest called it a day saying that my parents can pay him when their sober.
No comments available ...