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.
February 3, 2010
Best made in darkness
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right. View all posts by andrewday82
This entry was posted on Wednesday, February 3rd, 2010 at 10:07 pm and posted in Extract. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.