94. God of the Game
“Sublime,” Sha-Rronne prides and simultaneously shreds Sharon’s skin off. That was the last I saw of my prurient and incestuous daughter, my teenage bitch, the adolescent harlot. She deteriorated like dust and was danced away to dine with desert dunes. A part of me too died that day with her demise; but frankly, I was relieved. I was glad. Sharon was an inferior incantation of my subconscious lack. The best my aging sins could ignite.
I am tired. Tired of the games I play. It is the evening of the sixth day, and I desired rest. So delighted tomorrow is Sabbath! Granted, I was an appalling creator (my first attempt; not much of an endeavour, not much of an effort). I’m no god of the game; rather the game plays me, and I am only a pawn shuffled along by the greater forces that abide.
Sha-Rronne wishes her goodbye, but I stroked on to her little finger even as she boarded a chariot of twinkle-twinkle little stars. I say, “My Sanguine Lover...can you show her?”
The goddess pauses to my request. She palms my chest and responds, “Search your soul, do you really?”
Do I really? Or is it time to let go? Free her from the prison of my heart. The longer the princess is stowed in his ivory tower, the more haggard the king gets. Sitting enthroned on his gilded stage, glitter is the throne, but the ancient sovereign is blind, creased and gnarled, unable to enjoy the delectable splendour of his own excessive lust; summoned, instead, by arthritis and other bodily aches. His majesty is ill; he is chained perpetually to his own iron ball.
Night falls. One last deed before I greet the dawn. I don’t call for my Sanguine Lover. Rather, I give an order. The soldiers are rude, but are directed not to desecrate her femininity. Blindfolded and shoved along; at the point of no return, they undo the linen strip that ties her eyes. A riddled wall; on the ground, familiar faces stare agape. Jimmy, Frank, Sharon... butchered by bullets.
Detective Lingam, with Sergeant Siva, commands in an alacritous tone, “Ready! Aim! Fire...!”
Somewhere, Sha-Rronne releases a dove to the sky, and I can’t help but cry as I crawl out of Hell well and very, very much alive.
THE END
AI generated art prompted by author
All characters and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.