business. The situation is diffused for now…or so I think. A premature conclusion, as I quickly discover.
“ You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is abomination.” The words appear to come from the committee of sanctimonious rubes, but I know better. I’d know that voice anywhere. Regular fucking Edgar Bergen he is. And they are all just life-size Charlie McCarthys, waiting to be manipulated. Pull the string, Edgar, pull the fucking string.
And yet am I any better, as I whirl around, pull away from Jesus, my fists clenched and ready to strike? Lucifer has simply yanked on the chain, and Judas is responding all too predictably. The herd scatter before my anger, undoubtedly led to believe there would be no violence involved. “Leave us alone!” I scream.
“Judas, please don’t,” Jesus pleads with me in our native tongue, incomprehensible of course to these swine. But the damage is done; any good he might have attempted to do is lost. Who am I kidding? We never stood a chance.
And even if he wishes to speak with them, they are leaving. Seen enough, I suppose, to sustain their narrow-minded bigotry, although they have actually seen nothing. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass. If there were a door. Whatever.
Sometimes I am too impetuous for my own good. But then again, it’s ordained, isn’t it? Here we fucking go again.
I’m sorry, Jesus, I feel I have failed you, this is my fault, this is… I note with surprise that Lucifer remains, and he has the most hellish grin upon his otherwise pretty face. He narrows the gap between us, leans down, and whispers in my ear in that oh so superior tone he affects, “You should’ve simply let me fuck you, Judas.
We could’ve avoided all this, you know. And then, who knows, you could’ve had him, too, and impaled yourself in his holy spirit.” And then he too is gone, as I kick in frustration and futility at the ground, cursing once more the day I was born.
Fuck you Lucifer!
Chapter Sixteen: Peter
Tonight’s show was different, but I don’t know why. It sounded different. It felt different. The others say it’s because of Judas, he’s upset everything; he’s the one that’s hurting the Master. If this is true, and if I find out this is true, I will have to hurt Judas, because I can’t let that happen, I can’t let him hurt Jesus. I don’t understand why he would want to, though. Doesn’t he love him, just like we do?
There was this song that Jesus sang, it was very pretty, but it was also sad, too.
I had my hands full keeping an eye on the people as it was, what with the Master jumping down from the stage and walking around and all. Especially Lucifer, that troublemaker, with his fancy clothes and his evil ways. And then I almost thought I’d have to break up a fight between Judas and Mary—why does he have to fight with her like that? I don’t understand. She’s nice, for a girl. But he ran off before I had to get between them, and he didn’t come back. I almost wish he never would, but I know better.
After the show was over we cleaned up, as usual, the only difference was Judas wasn’t around. The others laughed about it, said how lazy he was. Not like they missed him or anything. They don’t like him very much, I know. Neither do I. But they didn’t say anything about him when Jesus was around. Jesus seemed so sad.
Mary tried to cheer him up, but even she couldn’t get a smile out of him. We asked him to come with us, told him we were going to go out drinking, but he said no, he wanted to wait for Judas to return, so we went on. And had a great time. Matthew and Philip talked Mary into going with us. She offered to stay behind, with Jesus, but he told her to go have fun. So she did. We weren’t worried about him, his mother stayed behind too; we knew she’d take care of him.
I know it’s almost over, which makes me sad. Sometimes our time with him seems too short. And our work doesn’t end when his life does. I will go
“ You shall not lie with a man as with a woman; it is abomination.” The words appear to come from the committee of sanctimonious rubes, but I know better. I’d know that voice anywhere. Regular fucking Edgar Bergen he is. And they are all just life-size Charlie McCarthys, waiting to be manipulated. Pull the string, Edgar, pull the fucking string.
And yet am I any better, as I whirl around, pull away from Jesus, my fists clenched and ready to strike? Lucifer has simply yanked on the chain, and Judas is responding all too predictably. The herd scatter before my anger, undoubtedly led to believe there would be no violence involved. “Leave us alone!” I scream.
“Judas, please don’t,” Jesus pleads with me in our native tongue, incomprehensible of course to these swine. But the damage is done; any good he might have attempted to do is lost. Who am I kidding? We never stood a chance.
And even if he wishes to speak with them, they are leaving. Seen enough, I suppose, to sustain their narrow-minded bigotry, although they have actually seen nothing. Don’t let the door hit you in the ass. If there were a door. Whatever.
Sometimes I am too impetuous for my own good. But then again, it’s ordained, isn’t it? Here we fucking go again.
I’m sorry, Jesus, I feel I have failed you, this is my fault, this is… I note with surprise that Lucifer remains, and he has the most hellish grin upon his otherwise pretty face. He narrows the gap between us, leans down, and whispers in my ear in that oh so superior tone he affects, “You should’ve simply let me fuck you, Judas.
We could’ve avoided all this, you know. And then, who knows, you could’ve had him, too, and impaled yourself in his holy spirit.” And then he too is gone, as I kick in frustration and futility at the ground, cursing once more the day I was born.
Fuck you Lucifer!
Chapter Sixteen: Peter
Tonight’s show was different, but I don’t know why. It sounded different. It felt different. The others say it’s because of Judas, he’s upset everything; he’s the one that’s hurting the Master. If this is true, and if I find out this is true, I will have to hurt Judas, because I can’t let that happen, I can’t let him hurt Jesus. I don’t understand why he would want to, though. Doesn’t he love him, just like we do?
There was this song that Jesus sang, it was very pretty, but it was also sad, too.
I had my hands full keeping an eye on the people as it was, what with the Master jumping down from the stage and walking around and all. Especially Lucifer, that troublemaker, with his fancy clothes and his evil ways. And then I almost thought I’d have to break up a fight between Judas and Mary—why does he have to fight with her like that? I don’t understand. She’s nice, for a girl. But he ran off before I had to get between them, and he didn’t come back. I almost wish he never would, but I know better.
After the show was over we cleaned up, as usual, the only difference was Judas wasn’t around. The others laughed about it, said how lazy he was. Not like they missed him or anything. They don’t like him very much, I know. Neither do I. But they didn’t say anything about him when Jesus was around. Jesus seemed so sad.
Mary tried to cheer him up, but even she couldn’t get a smile out of him. We asked him to come with us, told him we were going to go out drinking, but he said no, he wanted to wait for Judas to return, so we went on. And had a great time. Matthew and Philip talked Mary into going with us. She offered to stay behind, with Jesus, but he told her to go have fun. So she did. We weren’t worried about him, his mother stayed behind too; we knew she’d take care of him.
I know it’s almost over, which makes me sad. Sometimes our time with him seems too short. And our work doesn’t end when his life does. I will go
Similar Books
