"If you can
find the strength inside yourself, then you can become one of the few people
who gets to see all the perfection that God ever created. The perfection of God
and the burning desire to see it in full blossom, is planted in everyone of us.
But it takes tremendous strength and a strong mind to unlock the purity. Most
people do not even know it is there. How I pity them!"
The time is 10
p.m. and I am restless. I have lit a candle in a seemingly futile attempt to
soften up the sharp white agony in my head. It is the only light in the little
cellar and, situated on the floor in the middle of the room, it makes the cold
walls crawl with lurking shadows and unseen creatures. I sit on the concrete
floor, leaning against the bolted wooden door, carefully avoiding the red pool
of blood that is barely visible in the dim lighting from the flickering flame.
Out there, just on the other side of the ring of light from the candle, she
lies. Her skin glows with the liquid gold from the flame and she tries to move,
despite her weakness and agony - she reminds me of the previous one. I remain
motionless while she slowly moves, inch by inch, across the floor. Every motion
is painfully slow and almost like a vision, I see her struggle mirrored in my
shiny dark eyes. Yes, there is definitely a similarity! The resemblance is
almost indistinguishable. But I can see it! In her struggle I find the same
beauty as before. A perfect symmetry unfolds before me. Her nails scrapes
against the roughness of the floor and the red blood drips from her hair as
she, once again, tries to get a little bit closer to salvation. Oh, how I enjoy
these quiet little moments right before the end!
She moves again
and her movement makes the light flicker. For one short moment I catch a
glimpse of the bloody mess where one of her breasts used to be. Again she fades
into the shadows, leaving me hungry for more of her. But I remain motionless,
waiting for her next appearance. A long time passes as she gathers enough
strength to move again. I can hear her breathing, quietly restrained - she does
not want to make me have to punish her, like I had to do before she learned to
behave silently. Then she finally move again. More blood is added to the
gleaming pool on the floor. In the last hour she has moved nearly one metre.
Not much, but it does not matter - every motion she has made to this very day
has been ugly. Now she has moved almost one metre in perfect symmetry, without
a single futile motion. I envy her for her purity. After having disgraced the
God that made her for so long, she is finally realising what she has done and
why He makes her pay for it.
Now she moves
again. Suddenly one of her hands, covered in blood, slips and she falls hard on
the ground with a cry of pain. I cry out in disappointment - now she has
spoiled everything! She hears my outburst and tries to crawl away from me, but
again her hand slips in the slimy blood and she can not suppress another scream
as the raw concrete tears at her open wounds. And in a rage I get up, jerk the
bolts on the door open and grab the spiked baseball bat that was leaning
against the door. I turn around and switch the light back on. The cellar is
flooded with sharp, white neon light. In this new light I see her as she really
is, incomplete and unsatisfactory. I splash blood all over as I approach her
with the club in my hand and with a sound like an axe hitting wood, I crush her scull. But in my rage there
is a calm center, where I sit and watch the things I do and somehow I know, that
next time it will not be like this. I know I can make it work!!
Lars
Teglbjærg, 3a
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