Talik rose the gun to the clerk's head. His index finger tapped the trigger. "Do it already!" yelled one of the boys behind him. "Get it over with!"
The man was bent over with hands flat against the floor of the store. Sweat dripped off his forehead. He was going to die. The man understood that much. There is no use in begging. Everyone knew you couldn't beg in the hood. Not in this Ghytto. "A gift opens the way
and ushers the giver into the presence of the great.
Proverbs 18:16"
As his mouth echoed the verse, the scripture number appeared on his forehead. His eyes were like flames. He beckoned the man whilst grinning. "Hand it over."
The man on the floor stammered, "I don't have anything."
He lowered the gun, "The Lord detests lying lips,
but he delights in people who are trustworthy." He placed the glock to his forehead again. "And do not fear those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul. Rather fear him who can destroy both soul and body in hell."
The gun lit fire into the skull. He toppled over, his body turning to grey ashes. He scooted the ashes up and grabbed a bag from his left hip. He dumped the ashes inside the bag and continued with the pile. Once done, he straightened. "It's more, get the ones under us." He voiced without turning around. "And bring me a goddamn lighter."
His skin the color of soot, his feet walked on the ground with a lit match. Nose sharp, eyes the wings of a butterfly.
The man shattered, puffing out of existence.
They called him Saint John. Full name? Unknown. Some suspected, he was a true ghost. A soul without a body. But clearly, he was a man, and he smoked the ashes of the dead. He stood in the darkness of the store. Nothing but food and other redundant items.
If he packed better shit. Maybe the outcome would have been different.
He went to the refrigerator that stocked soda and beer. He grabbed a bottle of his favorite, Notre. A green liquor with berries inside of it.
His thumbs were sharp. He flicked the cap off the liquor with his thumb and swigged down half the bottle. "ʇsǝɹ ǝɥʇ puᴉɟ sˌʇǝๅ ʍoN"
.
.
.
"Saint!" yelled one of his men. "It's a cuddle!"
Saint John coursed his way down the stairs of the store. "It's eight bitches down here hidin'!"
He reached the bottom. "I find a bat upstairs." His eyes were filled with fire again, "·ʇno ʇᴉ ʎɹʇ oʇ ǝɯᴉʇ ʇɐǝɹɓ ɐ ʇɐɥM."
The eight individuals were hutched in a corner of the basement. A woman with three kids, a man positioned away from them. He wore overalls and red shoes. He cowered, hands over his bald head. He cried louder than the children and woman. "What the fuck is this?"
"Don't—Don't smoke me!" blabbered the man on the floor. Saint John rolled his eyes, he took the bat with two hands and wacked it over the man's head, cracking the skull. He cried out; blood poured out. Dripping on the floor, splashed against the wall. The woman covered the children's eyes. She looked on with wide eyes, shouting, "Fucking kill him!"
"ʎɥM?"
"The fucking coward took the money and spent it!" she yelled. "We had what you wanted. He didn't want to give you anything!" tears streamed down her pale face. The children gripped her shirt. "Spare my children!"
"uǝɹpๅᴉɥɔ?" the flames in his eyes grew. "ssǝๅʇɹɐǝɥ ǝɯ ʞuᴉɥʇ noʎ oꓷ"
She squeezed her children. Thinking about what she said, she should have known better. "I am a saint." He motioned the shadows in the back to grab the kids. She lurched forward, trying to keep hold of her young, one of the shadows summoned a gun in his palms and aimed. The lady fell to the side. He shot her three more times. The other ghost snickered, "Looks fun."
Her body became a pile of ashes like the last. "Take the white nigga…" ordered Saint John.
"And do what?"
He glared at the shadow, how dare he. His eyes exploded, the fire burning sight itself, "WHAT THE FUCK HAVE WE BEEN DOING?" flames stained his lips. "FIND ME."
.
.
.
Saint John pulled the trigger and with his left hand took the soul from the body. He waved his gun to the right, directing his apostles. "Get the body bags." he ordered. The crew dispersed into the shadows.
Saint John looked at the person's body. He pulled the gun hitting the forehead of the man. He neither smiled nor frowned. He scratched the back of his neck and picked the body up by the collar. "Fresh blood..." His lips parted and he licked his teeth. He dropped the body. He groaned, "I'm so fucking bored." Saint John left the person.
You could call him Jesus. But Jesus wasn't full of evil. Jesus died for people's sins, Jesus was giver, a lover. Saint John as Jesus?
When Saint sat at the banquet. His father, the street King sat in his throne and his brother—who was a goody too shoes—sat on the left side. "It is a good day..." said the lord and Aleigha nodded. He took a sip from his cup, "Especially when you're a murderer."
"Aleigha..." God grunted. "You would be better with a closed mouth."
"Always threatening me." he sighed. Saint John thought it incredibility disrespectful. His brother was aloof. For his birthday he regularly asked for a whore or two. In his own words, he wanted to get his frustrations out. This was another reason saint john couldn't be jesus.
One, he was ugly. Two, he cut his dick off. Three, he was half human. He had thought about Jesus. He was black; he had to be. By this we know love, that he laid down his life for us, and we ought to lay down our lives for the brothers.
That's what the word said, but he was more incline to kill him. Saint John looked at the congregation, digging into their meals. Eating fat arms legs whilst drinking blood. "Oh saint..." said the lord. He looked up at his father. God bore his teeth. He shivered and got up from his table. Going up the stairs, God put his hand out and Saint John put his hand in his.
God smiled and used his other hand to grab the boy's shoulder. Saint John winced; God grinned again with bleeding teeth. His left hand on his shoulder and his right hand holding his arm.
In a swift motion, a crack echoed through the room. Guest did not part from their plates as the boy screamed, exhausting his lungs expect Aleigha. He ran up the steps and grabbed Saint. "He already lost an arm!" Aleigha shouted. "So..."
God tossed Saint's arm in the air; his neck stretched as the limb fell between his teeth. "What is wrong with you!"
"Shut up boy..." he kicked him.
The guest kept slurping their meals, not paying any mind to what was happening. God focused his gaze to the congregation, "Bring in the fresh meat!" he announced. "My people need to feed as well as I."
Aleigha scurried to help Saint. To the right was a door and he led him out; tugging on his shirt thinking it would hold back blood. "Did you do something?" Aleigha asked as the went down the upper hall. "No..." he winced. "Hold on--" he asked another question. "Are you scared?"
"No."
"Are you greedy? Do you want something?"
"No..."
"You're lying to me."
"I'm not--"
"Little African... do you want something?"
Saint John averted looking at Aleigha. He pouted, "I know you didn't call me little African as dark as you are."
"At least people don't call me jesus..." Aleigha retorted. Saints eyes set a fire, he smirked. "And I'm not. I'd rather see them all die."
"As they would to you."
Aleigha to took him to his chambers and patched him up with a needle and thread. "Being prophets doesn't mean shit if we keep dying."
"But we have his blessing..."
"But his word at bond." Aleigha stated. "Do you relieve you have no arms?"
"God has a reason for everything." said Saint.
"So..." he crossed his arms. "you're telling me, this man put ashes on our bodies like a fucking baptism for a reason?"
"Yeah--"
"You're telling me, this snake beast and the bitch next to him have a reason?"
"Sure--"
"You're telling me..." he clutched his collar. "I saw my mother hang from a tree for a reason. You're God, you're father, beat and dragged my mother for a reason. He put her on streets and killed her and killed her again, for a fucking reason!"
Saint shied away, "I don't know..."
Aleigha bore his teeth, "You're a fucking Christian. Next, you'll tell me why rape is deserved."
"Well... God said, Husbands should love their families as if they had been their own bodies. He who loves his daughter is also in devotion with himself. No one has ever scorned his or her own body, but instead feeds and nourishes it, just as He does so for the church. Nevertheless, if a man takes a maiden who is engaged with in open plains and overpowers her and lays with her, just the man who slept on her will die." he smiled gazing at him. Aleigha's lips opened, he rose his right hand and swung it across Saints cheek. "That fact that you can repeat that shit unbothered is a fucking sign!"
Saint blinked back the tears and inhale. "Your eyes are red."
"Because I can't breathe!"
"You have to give the Word soon." he furrowed. "You know what that means?"
He nodded, "I go through the ritual. I get to be a vampire for real for real. No clowning,"
Aleigha was honestly disgusted with the boy. Could he not see the trick? He turned to the door, mumbling under his breath. "Aleigha, where you going?"
"I'm surrounded by idiots."
.
.
.
Aleigha pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket. He could pick up singing or music coming from the banquet hall. He passed the door and shuffled the cards in his hand.
He stopped shuffling the cards and pulled the Justice arcana. Aleigha placed the Justice card between his lips and put the rest in his pockets. He looked at the card and stopped for a minute. "The waite rider tarot."
He examined the card's features. Tarot was fully left up to interpretation but he swore they actually predicted something.
"Today my day will be... a sovereign holding the scales and a sword in his left hand." he rosea brow. "I'm not trying to walk left-handed. What's the point in longevity?" He looked up, "Justice is about right and wrong and I don't wanna be wrong—wronged?" He said as the thought occurred to him. "What if... he doesn't wanna be wronged as in betrayal?" He looked at the card. "It's not about God." he squinted. "Correction... Asphy'hod. But what is wrong with Saint?"
He needed to sit down for this. Aleigha made his way to the confessional room. He entered the third brown door in the massive cathedral. He put his deck on the floor and put the justice card beside it.
He plucked a card. "Strength. Ok..."
Combined with the Justice and using sole interpretation, he speculated, "Something between right and wrong. The strength car has an infinity symbol. Does that mean he could be thinking about it?"
This time he asked a question, 'What is Saint thinking about?' Aleigha shuffled his deck, separating this in half and putting one half of the deck on top of the other. He drew a card, "The Sun?" his lip lifted in disbelief. "Ugh!"
The sun card could be about happiness. Aleigha sat on his legs thinking about Saint. "He doesn't know what makes him happy?" He turned the Strength card upside down. "Maybe... you feel weak? You don't have the strength..."
It made sense to him. If Saint didn't understand what made him happy or perhaps tilting between the things that made him happy. When it came to Aleigha, the boy wanted his mother to be happy. She had a hard life and deserved peace... though, it had been a good while—months—since he joined the church.
He picked up the cards and shuffled the deck again. "How is mom doing?" He picked a card. "The High Priestess?"
A woman that appeared as a nun and could be interpreted as the Virgin Mary, who he didn't believe in. She sat on a stone with a scroll in her hands. He called that the scroll of word in his hand. She wore blue and the columns B and J stood on both sides.
"I hate this card." he said. "Mama's between something. life and death? Choices? A grapevine... heard it through the grape vine? But they look like pinecones..." he sighed. "I need another card."
"Aleigha!" the cards exploded from his hand. He got to his feet in a rush. The cards laid scattered in the confessional.
"Aleigha? Where are you!" called the female voice. "Fuck me..." he tapped his forehead, his chest and each side of his shoulder. "May the great lord take these demons out of my ass and do away with them in the holy fire."
A rapped at the door. "Aleigha!" he pouted. "What are you doing in the confessional?"
"Praying for immortality and for the soul to continue."
"What?"
"My nuts."
"Boy out of the confessional."
"I just confessed."
The woman hollered, "ALEIGHA BIBLIO!
He exited the confessional meeting the blackened woman that shouldn't have existed. A snake wrapped her shoulders and it's tail around her left leg. "Hand check." she said.
"I don't need my fucking hands checked."
"The seer saw something. Go see your father."