>>5966224With a basil branch hidden by the confused eyes, the priest splashed tears of old alchol upon the drunks front.
"Go back from where you came, swine of evil
Away!"
"Away i said!", the throat demanded so desperately the inner roar of his voice came out.
Stepping too closely to the light, the lunacy of moonlight reached his foot from the hole on the ceiling; suddenly, the old vices of Nebuchadnezzar were remembered by the freedom of the night, debauchery, sodomy, rape and barbarie; the beast lying within every man, the envy hiding in all and each man of god.
Pretending to not want to, yet stepping further into lunacy, the priest progressed into the light revealing a sane face before he exploded his hidden and contradictory desires.
>Walk into the church, ignoring the man's protests, and ask him what in the blimey fuck's been goin onThe priest kept silence, trying to gather his composture and his thoughts; confessing memories fogged by time polluted it all, imps by his ear with commitment to mislead, yearnings of eloquence and peace, the desire from reasurance.. the words finally came to his broken tongue.
"And how should i know, you fucking animal?
you come here to my church breaking the 'godforgiveme' damned door, AND THEN, have the balls, the face, the guts to come forth and ask such a simple imbecility?"
-The priest humidified his lips with the tongue-
"And then.. and then, dont even bring half a turd to drink"
-He grabbed the empty bottle and tossed it with de-inflated disappointment-
".. and what? you want refugee as well?
dont you see-- DONT YOU SEE, -the walls repeated his words deeper than before-
the nest of the antichrist is yet under construction?!
who will pay for the damn gate?! the baby needs his nest closed, secret, and without one witness- without one-"
The wrinkles came back. This time the lunacy of Nebuchadnezzar did not manifest in time, the discipline exchanged places with the ancient Babylonian king, and a rigid, mummyfied corpse of man whitered in the wrinkles of stress.
"It had to be closed.."
Steps coming downstairs approach and echo frustratingly through the walls, the sound is too terrible and fast paced to bear; your heart shrinks with an old and forgotten feeling of imminence.
The mother of the antichrist rests in the church of saint Gallus the libertine; it seems they changed the saint's epithet suddenly. Unfortunate, considering a drunk like you would have been cherished under his protection.
Flops of heavy wings accompany the frustrated steps. The church begins to exhasperate, the gates clash closed and reopen back and forth as if the lungs buried underground were hyperventilating.
Leave or stay, drunk; God is drooling from the gob.
