Best made in darkness

I live in the shadows. The purest will, the strongest hand; these are things that best make their homes in darkness. I have no wish to share the daylight with ordinary men. Their weaknesses offend me and sully my purpose. In darkness I stand alone, untouched by the corruptions of this vain, unchaste world. For my right hand is the Lord’s right hand. It strikes down out of the darkness, clean, hard and fast. Then, like a swift forgotten dream, it is gone. My right hand lances infection. It pares out the rot, leaving clean, uncontaminated flesh, bright, bloody and alert to the Lord’s will. Yes, He guides my hand, which lingers now over this pestilential place, waiting impatiently for His instruction. I smell the foul stench of corruption gathering among the four walls of this town. That very corruption that will soon be swiftly and mercilessly eradicated. I merely await His instruction.

About andrewday82

My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right. View all posts by andrewday82

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