lantern soul chapter 6

6

 

The Flock of lambs is human in every way but each with the head of a sheep. There laid out in the grass fucking or grazing, and any combination of the two. They watched the giant, a Nephilim. Tend to his Flock. Picking up one stray female and licking her ass, listening to shrieks before eating her biting off a leg, and then the other with silence hitting her corpse when his teeth swallowed her belly. He threw her terror-stricken lamb head out across the valley, looking up the artificial lights hanging miles up along the dome.

 

"it is not a bad life," the Nephilim said to no one in particular.

 

The lover of the dead female cried out in desperation, "God is good." And looked for judgment as he ran (tears in his eyes) towards halls—both forbidden and dangerous.

 

"We were self-domesticating ourselves until we lost the rights of men—pets of things that were greater than ourselves. They continued to prosper as we shrank away. Nothing for us to worry about but fucking and eating...we were content. Happy even. This is the point where we became better sheep than men. Where we self-deluded believed that it was better for all, that our humanity is forgotten.

 

"reminds me of my time as a prisoner of war. I am locked away without food: the starving ache and the fantasy of indulgence of devouring anything. This defined those months painfully slow the moment, was exhaustive in its ability to exist out of time, by being of time at that moment. I know this sounds self consciously obscure, but there was room in my mind for anything other than my cell and my next meal, either real or imagined. "

 

Abra found him lying in the hall and took away his mask, revealing the wounded man staring back at her. Desperate for food, he tried to say something, all that came out was a wounded yelp. Tears in his eyes, not thinking the words but confident he had met an angel.

 

She pulled a chord out of her index finger and plugged it into the wall. A panel opened and out came a chord, and without much effort, she forced it down the man's throat and petted his head as if he were some scared animal.

 

He barely resisted, grateful to be complete, then felt something change in him. Hands became paws; hope became conviction. Hair growing covering him though possibly revealing his nature. Teeth are sharpening, canines earning their name. And at last, he is a dog on all fours. Abra pets him and says, "Now you can hear the morning star sing."

 

She let the beast follow her, and it was too wounded psychologically to have its mind salvaged.

 

Sin and Oldboy came forth without her command. Their Violence was the Violence of angels and devils—unprovoked, judging, and necessary.

 

"How evil! We are true! Make the lamb a man, and feed him to the dogs! His soul is lost. Oh! The genuinely evil one is you, your ability to provide rapture in a loss, even I am impressed at how you do evil and make it seem reasonable." Said Oldboy.

 

While Sin floated back, trying to evaluate whether there was ill intent or if his ignorance was all there was to the father's plan.

 

"what about you?" she said, looking at sin "what is your persuasion, what judgment do you bring me?"

 

Sin thought about the Cormac McCarthy novel he had been reading, saying at last "the frailty of everything, revealed at last."

 

Abra would suffer and hopeless mistrust. But well earned the light was she, and she would illuminate not just those pains but the joy they define.

But rejected, she stares at her angel and, in retort, says only, "Every story can make you sad."