Note:A priest loves Jesus. Idolization. (on a side note i handed this in to tenth grade english teacher. she enjoyed it.)


The church was locked for the night, closed against the hard electric glow of the street lamps and piercing beams of cars. The door was barred from the inside, the church was empty. I had sent them all home for the night early, the small little boys whom I had spent many nights alone lusting after; And Mrs. Jackson, who stayed after and helped count the money collected from midnight mass. They had left, I had sent them all home for the night and waited until I heard the last car pull out and drive away on that black snake of a road that stretched through the woods back into town.

I stood now, in front of the altar, kneeling, praying to our Lord Jesus Christ for repent. Repent for my insatiable lust; repent for my insatiable hunger, that now caused my body to ache and quiver in excitement, in sexual frustration. That hunger, that raised my robes behind the podium as I, a few hours before, stood in front of some 300 hundred people, random quotes from the bible. Punishing everyone different, everyone just like me. And now, alone in this church, my breathing echoing off the wood and porcelain walls I prayed. And prayed.

I looked skyward at the mammoth wooden cross that hung above my head. I looked at the writhing body of Christ. I stared at his chest, and muscle; his naked chest, so perfect, so immaculate in his agony. The pain peeling from his eyes, dripping down his face into his mouth. His crown of thorns is causing that sweet red blood to crawling across his forehead, to mat his hair and brow.

And I looked skyward at his half-naked body; I looked close and could see the sweat almost glistening from his body, the paint so real. I wet my fingers, sucking on the tips of my fingernails. A drop of spittle falling from my open mouth onto my robe, causing the bright green color to turn a dark, dark brown. And I closed my eyes, taking in static breaths, charged with my hot passion that burned through my body and loins. Burning my eyes as I gazed lovingly up at our Lord, our savior, that died for the very sin I was about to commit.

His chest, rising and falling, I was sure I could see that. I was sure that I could see his mouth slowly opening and closing, gasping in as I breathed out. His image burning in my mind, and between my thighs. His legs crossed, hiding that beautiful flesh which I sought to touch, to caress with the back of my hand. I sighed, closed my eyes, and reached skyward to touch his foot, to press my face against his legs; to feel the sharpness of those iron nails with my tongue.

I brought my other hand toward my mouth again, sucking on two fingers, gently massaging my velvety tongue, thinking of his own. I can almost feel his hairs rough against my face, his blood coursing through that ancient flesh. I took off my robe, letting its dark brown color fall from my naked flesh. Letting the cool air tickle me, kissing my flesh. I push them away, shun them from this most “holy” moment; push them away from me as I slowly run my tongue against his leg again. Slowly running my fleshy body against his wooden one.

Two wet fingers sliding up his leg, up towards his northern most reaches. My hips, thrusting against wood. Flesh against wood and back again, and again, and again. Feeling his wooden body warm at each interval, warm at my touch. And his body, breathing; and his head, thrown back in utter pleasure; and my own tongue his candy sweet flesh; and his moaning rocking like violins against walls of wood and porcelain. And my breathing turning into short, sharp gasps while my hips rocked hard against wood and paint, against wood and paint.

And when my pounding ceased, and my salty insides plastered against wooden legs crosses three times with string and nails, I stared up at his beautiful face. I stared up and he looked down at me, those golden eyes piercing into my own, turning them to water that drips from my eyes and runs toward my gaping mouth. And his hands, touching my flesh, burning hot, searing to the touch. And his breath stinging my hair, letting it fall toward the cold black ground. And when he knelt toward me and kissed my forehead a thousand blood-caked hands crushed my skull.

And when I threw back my head and screamed in pain, he too screamed with me. Like dying horses we scream, our voices reverberating in my head, pounding into my heart. And with those burning hands he reaches inside my head and snaps my eyes open to look at this pain, at this horrible, horrible hate. I stop my screaming and listen to his own; a million shrieking, hollering, souls erupting from his golden lips. A million souls that fall toward the sky, each one bursting into another million tiny flames, that scatter toward the ground in the guise of a human.

And then I cry, and fall from grace.

To suffer eternally, or internally?