"Anything…no, anyone," began the man, "be it saint or lover, be it good girl or bitch...can be a God. A sacrifice, at the very least."

The room was big and circular, arches and grand vaults abounded, every six rows of chairs filled with a person.

At least, it was now.

He giggled and felt no need to stifle it. He had no need to keep a professional air; why would he when his audience couldn't possibly mind?

"So you see, this is how I can taste of love and hatred and know the in-between's tart flavor without having to go through the process of slipping through person after person looking for it."

He stood tall with his back straight.

His old and flapping body was completely exposed. He wore only his new necktie as he paced about, arms dancing and flying around as he gestured and spoke grandly, occasionally breaking the flow of his lecture to giggle again, because it was all so FUNNY. His head was like a balloon about to pop and his brain screamed and his mind was set to split apart, but that was okay. The thing he called God would eat him up as voraciously as he did pancakes and he would be happy. He would belong to someone who would love him for no explicable reason at all, and he wanted that more than anything. He would get what he had been wanting so badly, yet had been so afraid to reach for.



Logical emotions hindered him like no other. Now, though, he had shaken free of his chains and taken blood where blood was due from whoever had tried to keep him from getting the bargain of the century.

But surely they were just confused as he once was; that was why he sat them down, slowly oozing apart, and made sure their dull eyes could take him in.

"Living in fear is not the key," he said quietly. A few tears broke loose and spilled over, but he barely noticed them. "Letting live and live does not make the shadow ache less. We look for that which absorbs the fear and loves our living, no matter how pathetic. Loves us pathetic bags of flesh and guts."

More tears. They pattered onto his new necktie, which was already damp and slick with blood.

"Class, look at me, all of me." He made his voice project, with resounding echo, hands out and his eyes clenching shut. The morning light landed just right, so that he felt a halo of sun burning his bald scalp. "This is what I let myself become, after so many years of being afraid, silent self-hatred, refusing to love anyone, much less myself! A self-pitying wad of pig skin! But I have found something…someone, I think…who will take this as it is! Me, of all people…should I offer something to Her! So could you blame me for wanting to offer up as many souls as I could? No! Now…now time seems to have turned sour in my mouth and I've tired of having to swallow my pride and pass it."

Slowly, as dramatically as he could, he pulled on the rope dangling near him and was doused with gasoline.

He grinned, and picked up his lighter, somehow not slipping on the blood and other un-identifiable liquids his feet were soaked in.

"Let's control something for once, hmm? Bloom as people, for Her? Let's decide how things are to taste around here: Like pennies and a good campfire. Burned bacon. Oink."

He flicked the little lighter open, gazed serenely at the tongue quietly lapping the air for his soaked flesh. Hungry.

"Don't worry, little friend. No one is gonna to leave here that isn't gonna leave happy."

The man had made sure of it. Even his audience died with smiles sewn into their faces.

He let the flame taste him, until it stuck fast to his skin and spread rapidly, greedily, grew fat as it blazed and devoured him.

The stench of burning flesh filled the air, laced with traces of cinnamon.

I await your review, to tell me what is it you hate and love and like and want to make peace with.