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Saturday, November 26, 2011

The Gift


Copyright Lia Scott Price

The Gift

Who knew that a Guardian Angelʼs childhood was filled with rage and bad memories. As he looks at the bleeding bodies of those who prayed to him, he wonders if he did enough to make up for the trauma of childhood? His latest victim was a supposedly deeply religious mother who had slapped her child to shut the kid up, because he was trying to get her attention because he was hungry,
but she preferred to talk on the phone with her friends for hours.

Her anger caused her child to try to ignore his pangs of hunger and fear each day. He never knew what would make her mad. He was a thorn on her side. She was deeply religious woman, but one who was not spiritual. But that really wasnʼt the cause of this Angelʼs  rage. He knew she showed up at church in her best outfits just  for show, using money that should have gone to feed her child. She had an air of self- righteousness about her.

And he had heard her pray  for her secret abuses to someday be forgiven in heaven, for her sins to be erased just because she went to church. Every time she felt the holy water at the tips of her fingers, she felt purged. He watched as she donated a few coins to the church, thinking that money would buy her salvation in the afterlife. He laughed to himself as she made her prayers to the saints and the angels, hoping for some reward, for eternal salvation.

But who knew that when she talked to her supposed Guardian Angel that he was really a serial killer, targeting the people who reminded him of the mother who abused him in his own life. It is said that prayer is a refuge. But instead, it is a beacon for an Angel seeking revenge.

And the angel came. And he left behind a head here, an arm there. A Guardian Angel tearing out her hypocritical tongue, her blackened heart. He found her through her selfish, pretentious, and self-righteous prayers, where she begged for her Angel to get her out of the life she led, where she wished she didnʼt have a child, that she could get rid of all the problems in her life, that she could just get rid of all her sins and live a life of pleasure and riches. Each prayer of her brought him closer to her..…and they never saw it coming. This Guardian Angel answered her prayers by hacking her to pieces with his sword. Blood splattered on his white

You remind me of my own mother, he said to her. I will purge myself of her memory, one limb at a time. I will start with your feet. I will hack them off right at the ankles. I will hack off your legs.

Do you feel my own pain yet? Now youʼll feel the sharp blade on your arms. Do you believe in God? You asked him to send an angel to save you. But I wonʼt save you. You fear God, only because you are afraid of guilt-driven eternal punishment. So you pray to your useless saints for the reward of a glorious life in heavenly paradise, for your sins to be absolved.

He spoke to her as he cut her up. He found her to be hollow inside. For every limb he cut off,  each loss of a limb was a chance to fill the void within him. Each hole he cut in her covered up the holes in his own life, those empty, dark voids. Despite the fact that her head was now separated from her body, he continued to talk to her, as if she could still hear what he had to say.

He continued to tell her he had been abused as a 6-year old child, so he understood pain.

But he wasnʼt there as an avenger for the abused, he wasnʼt there as some supernatural superhero, he did this only to ease his own pain and inner rage. He wasnʼt there to expose the religious   hypocrites. He couldnʼt care less if the good sinned or strayed. He used their sins as a beacon for his own form of personal “therapy” He targeted specific prayers and people, and used mercy killing as a way to try to erase the memories of a painful childhood. In reality, he couldnʼt care less what happened to the child he now left as an orphan.

All he cared about was shutting up the annoying voice of another praying, begging, desperate, nagging human being who he felt he shouldnʼt have to help. He was sick of answering prayers, no matter the reason. To him, the most beautiful sound was that of her screams. It took away the pain for just a moment. He simply wished for the desperate prayers, the haughty voices, to be silenced forever.

And he hoped that in time, the hate would fade away too.

His gift to the child was a single bloody feather the child gleefully played with, while sitting next to his motherʼs bloody remains.

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