The Love of the Job (1,500 Words)

         It's not easy, cleansing the world of its filth--all that festering rubbish corroding the souls of our youth. Who else is there? Who else cares to make a stand--to make a change? I fear, there is no one.

         Here I stand in the heart of my lair, cleaning my tools for the fifth time this week--and it's only Wednesday. The Misses, who spends most of her time cleaning the pens, pretends not to notice the good I've done, but she does see. Who in their right mind wouldn't? And yet I'm far from finished. There's so much filth, so much darkness, so much insanity.

         Those poor fools, living day-to-day, hand to mouth, paycheck to paycheck; they just don't love their work as I do. I'm one of the lucky ones. I awaken each morning to the sound of my own inner alarm clock; jump from my bed to a list of jobs awaiting me, eager to conquer each one with the same zeal as the last. Who else can say this with such pride, such honor and dignity as I? Not you, I'm afraid.

         Still, so many call me crazy--a mad man. You should be calling me a saint! You just don't understand; you don't see--you can't! I'm a gift from God. I've been granted the power to see the good and the bad in everything. My list grows quickly, but not by my hand, for it's the hand of God that does the deed. Call me what you will, just pray you're name never appears on my list.

         So much to be done. Will it never end? I must hurry along, pick up the pace. Some believe they're blessed with the gift, but I am the only truly gifted spirit, graced by the rock-solid hand of God. No one can do as I do, no one can see as I see, no one!

         The Lord guides my feet as I walk the path; it is the path of righteousness, the path of valor. Disappearing into the shadows, I watch the dark aura step from the idle car unto the sidewalk. It's pouring rain. This aura is charred--blackened to the core--it burns my retinas, etching at my brain. I veil my eyes and ready my mind for the act of cleansing. Patiently I await the signal. The timing is entirely beyond me, and if not preceded with the utmost perfection, the risk of damnation is eminent. I mustn't fail. I fear that, which gives me strength.

         It's dark. The moon casts its heavenly glow upon the street. I'm ready Lord, on your mark. Into the shadows I creep, swallowed by darkness.

         For three days it has poured upon this wretched town, but now, at this very moment, the rain has stopped. This is God's will. His signal. It is time. The traffic is nonexistent. There is only the aura of darkness; the sin to be cleansed. The street lamps are dim, one flickers uncontrollably, casting a strobe effect upon the reflective surface of the wet street. I emerge from the darkness without a sound.

         The puddles lay silently in the calming of the storm. I tiptoe cautiously closer. It leans upon a lamppost, waiting for another car to slow. The smell emanating from the beast is rancid. I creep from behind. It's hauntingly silent. I pull the cloth from my pouch and reach from behind.

         It quickly falls unconscious.

         I pull it into the shadows. There awaits the vehicle. Designed by God, it is a vehicle like no other. The cleansing starts here. I raise the hatch and toss the beast inside.

         "The highway's the quickest way," daddy would say; but I like country roads--ones less traveled. It's back in those woods off old 101, where the Lord told me to build it. Not as nice as the shop back home, but I don't ask questions of the Lord; he has his reasons.

         Once cleansed the waste must be disposed of precisely as the Lord has ordered, otherwise the soul will be lost forever. That's where the Misses comes in. She plays a vital, yet unwitting role in the cleansing process.

         The Lord's message is clear. The spirit must be cleansed; the body, is to be left to them. "Send them into the swine so that they may enter into them, and the demons shall drown within the heavenly waters of a cleansed earth and the world of man shall be saved, and you shall be graced with the gift of life eternal."

         I reach over, keeping my eye on the road and open the glove box. I flip up the first switch. The pump powers on. Cleansing fluid pumps into the tub and the beast screams. They always scream. Cleansing is far from painless. Listen to them.

         Demons.

         After two minutes, I flip the next switch. Another pump fires and more fluid rushes in. There's less screaming. But if you listen closely, you can hear--there! There's one ... see? Everything is going perfectly. A sucking sound fills the cab and the fluid is drained from the tub. The monitor on the dash assures me, all is well. The body lives. It mustn't die. It's vital to the success of the cleansing. If the body dies, the demons pass to another--possibly mine. This can never be.

         The rain has started again, but that's no problem, none at all. Almost there. I pull off the road into a patch of heavy overgrowth. It's nearly impossible to see, even with the headlights on high. The brush is thick, the road, narrow; more like a path. At the end, the road splits. Quick right, through another patch of overgrowth, into a small clearing, there it is ... the Lord's shop.

         The back door's open and waiting. As I open the hatch I can see, everything is perfect. The first stage is complete. The outer shell of the beast has been stripped away. It's a beautiful thing, the human body, once the filthy top layers have been cleared away. Skin is a lustful organ.

         I lift the body from the tub--it shakes violently, weeping rancid blood and pus--place it in a wheel barrel and cart it into the center of the concrete room and dump it on the floor. It releases a harsh guttural sigh then groans--eerily mournful. Its eyes gawk at me, dry, bloodshot. The lids, gone, cleansed away with the rest of the filth. It is now, when I must remind myself of the duty I am fulfilling for God. It's so easy to look into those eyes and question the task. Don't be foolish. God is my master, my witness. I love him.

         I place a sack over its head. It tries to speak, though the words are meaningless garble. Demonic tongues--a language unknown to my ears. I grab my tools and ready myself for phase two. I roll a metal table toward the body and place the tools in order, then run to the basin and turn it on. The pump fires. The basin fills with a new batch of fluid.

         The body lays spasmodic on the floor. I grab the knife--it's long, heavy--lift it high above my head and with one solid stroke, remove its right leg. Horrific screams fill the tiny concrete space. Tainted blood expels from the beast. The demons know it's coming. The body twitches. The screams are dreadful. I know within my heart, it's with good cause.

         I raise the knife again and sever the remaining leg. Again the screams howl, squealing, dreadful wails. The blood spills more quickly now; collecting in a deep pool around my feet. The demon's hold is lifting. The cleansing is working!

         I grab the disengaged legs and toss them into the basin, now flowing over with fluid. I flip the switch, stopping the pump and gaze at the body. It twitches, but the screams have stopped. I must work quickly. It cannot die!

         I rush toward the body and remove both arms with haste, tossing them into the basin one after the other; then I sever the head carefully with the hacksaw. Every piece is thoroughly washed and rinsed in the fluid, then hung on hooks where they are to dry before the final phase.

         My job here is nearly complete. Soon I will move on to the next name on the list. But now I send the thoroughly dried flesh into the grinder behind the shop. Oh how those pigs love the feasts the Misses blesses upon them.

* * *

         There are so many names on my list and it grows longer every day. New names appear faster than I can possible work. I cannot catch up, wouldn't want to if I could. For what would I do--what would I be--if not for my glorious job? My divine job, graced me by God.