Updated: Oct 17
Gore, Sexual Content, Mild Language
O' Rasputin, take me away!
I left behind what you call 'love'
Let me suffer over you!
Rally me through, rally me through.
O' Rasputin, take the holy chalice!
Drink my water. Parade my sins.
Drink what my child spit blue.
Rally me through, rally me through!
It has been six days, lights in the church has been put out. No one seems to know the reason. But something does not feel right.
For some unknown reason, my eyes had been living the crudeness of the night. Looking over and over to the dull greyness fuming around the St. Hudson's Church.
Where's my wife? I don't remember seeing her. It's strange while I look at tall bell tower at the church, I am somehow reminded of her. I remember her calm wrinkled face as she softly shared her nuisance of the old age. Wherever she is, I am not anxious. She will be fine by herself.
Why should I be worried? Nothing bad ever happens in the Emerald Coast. Surely not to good people like us.
My hairs have stopped turning grey. I am amused. I worked up my jeep earlier this week, and my back seems fine with it. And my lungs. I feel so calm and easy with each breath. I don't know why, but it feels kind of funny being old and not feeling it.
Am I getting younger?
My urge to attend the Sunday prayer hasn't quiet died yet. I guess I can't get rid off this old age.
However, something itches funny.
Standing at the porch of the Saint Hudson Baptist Church, I remember. The vows, the smiles, the cheer and the joy. I can see myself being wedded to the most beautiful person I ever met. Someone truly said, sun always shines the brightest when people around you are happy.
Oh I see, Pastor Clark used to be young those days. What a servant of the lord! He almost drank me out of money that night. We used to empty down barrels of whisky while we had our balls warm. With the church closed, I assume he has resumed his drinking habit. Must have dozed off the world.
As I walk towards his home I wonder if he hasn't already drowned himself in rum. Each time we went to a bar together, most of the times he ended up passing out on the street.
Talking about the street, I am seeing a lots of young men around. Very familiar ones. Maybe my folks got lucky today, being visited by their kids. I wish they had popped a few baby girls. Now it's my bad luck to be surrounded with young men. My boy, now I wonder why didn't I ever had a kid?..(sigh) I don't remember wondering this much. I feel like my age is running behind me.
I am at Clark's house now. He had a crucifix hanging at the front door. Now it is missing. And to my surprise, Pastor's door is open. The drifting of age has stopped. I can feel it under my boots. I can feel my feet burning up. Heating up, as if my blood was boiling.
A feet inside his house, and I am all changed. Why have I started to talk inside my head? Didn't that disease goes away with youth? Then why do I feel such different inside my skull?
Woah! My hands...what in the world is this feeling!
"Wooh! Yee-HAW!!!" Someone screamed.
Was that a lady? Did I just hear a lady's voice coming from the Pastor's room? O Lord!
Pastor is having a good time. But what's wrong in having a peep. He he!
No! No! NO! What am I thinking? Wait! I want these feet to stop. Stop tiptoeing. Stop already.
Where is my shame? Why am I not hesitating?
I can feel the sweat, but its all excitement. All excitement! I open the door slightly and my eyes find a way in.
Her curves, her body. It looks so smooth. It's all pleasure. I can see her enjoying. Wow! Such a bodacious body. How in the world, she ended up with this old geezer!!
My head. It is not in my control. it says 'what if I have a go!' I don't remember being this bold. Yet, I stupidly pushed the door open at a face of a lady, I already knew. But beyond my recognition. I never forget a face. And as she turned to me in frenzy.
The slate inside my head clears up. A new picture draws over.
A bodacious blonde rubbing her genitals on the legs of a dead pastor. Her hands are up and with the right hand, she holds a hammer. She is looking at me, in a dilemma she drops it down. Drops down that bloody hammer.
But what a magnificent body!!! Oooo! She slowly turns to me. What a young lovely woman!!!
Have I not seen that face before? I know her curves, I know I have. I can remember how her lips taste. But, where have I tasted it before? No, don't focus at her. Look at the Pastor. What is he doing? How is he? And I look right back at her legs. Such succulent as she graciously touches it. Running her fingers down , and right back up at her gorgeous bossom.
She is not letting me draw the complete image. Her face, I can't draw it completely inside my head.
Suddenly the redness dripping down the bed becomes louder. A drop falls down stunning my head. Such a loud fall, as if someone hit my head to the church bell.
Whatever it felt like, my senses suddenly started screaming at me. 'Look behind her. behind her.'
And the picture redrew.
Pastor lays cold on his bed. Sheets wrapped around his face. The lay had a chisel nailed through his chest. Before the redness could soak the floor wet.
Before she could have leapt and grabbed hold of the hammer, I jump towards the bed and pushed her away. She grabbed hold of the bedsheet covered my face with it. I knew she will try grabbing the hammer. My instincts are not old anymore. My frenzy is all fresh and wild. I know I don't want to be nailed to the wall or to the bed by a necrophile. So, I start throwing my hands here and there, screaming as loudly as I can. In the midst of this my mind hasn't stopped the drawing.
The slate is being scratched hard and hard. I am finally getting a picture. I can feel her nails scratching over my face. It tore off the bed sheet.
Whatever I had in myself, I put in in the back of my hips and kicked right at her core. She quails out loud. I don't know what she hit. But a crashing sound follows, she must have...I uncover my face and see her head bashed out of the window.
The picture is finally over. Why am I looking over my bride? Why am I under this holy dome, standing at the other side of the altar? Looking at the slim lips fluttering, as she repeated the vows. I am scared. My nerves are spilling panic.
I am looking at the naked lady. But why do I see the same body, the same face, the same charm. Even with her head bashed into the window, chunks of glass piercing her face; I only see my bride's beautiful face. Jen, why do I see you while I look at this dead lady?
I am confused. I am frozen.
Jen, is that you? How could you be with Clark...Am I being cucked? FUCK!!! I just killed my wife. O lord!! But how in the world is she ...so young?
What in the world is happening?
'O' Rasputin' - This is the very first part of this long story. I said that there will be a dark story coming...it will come out. But not so soon.
It will be kind of controversial.
'O Rasputin'. I got the whole idea for story yesterday. It has a very generic tone. But wait till the third part.
I promise two things with this story. First, Entertainment. Second, the tones of all chapters will be differing. First one is a dull narrative on what happens on the surface.
Second one will uncover the thin fleshy surface. Most of the questions from the first part will be covered in the second part. That's all I have to say.
Next part comes out soon.