What You Eat

When I first held my tongue to an open vain, blood pulsed around it and I felt the presence of God for the first time.  The feeling rejuvenated me, I felt immortal.  My sermons had been lackluster and robotic for months, but after I had gotten as close to God as you possibly can without being Him, I preached in ways I think people just couldn't comprehend.  People judged me automatically, because they were afraid of the aura I put off.  I consumed life, held it's purest form in my hands and became one with it, I became life itself.  I suppose it was rather daunting to be in my presence.

I came across this miracle in a moment of weakness.  Out of years of boredom in service to God, I sought satisfaction in the most natural of man's desire.  Through a friend of a friend I ordered a whore.  That's really all I remember about her, as far as her earthly ties.  I couldn't even tell you what color hair she had.  It matters not.  People to me became so sad and lonely that their names and occupations began to matter less and less as they marched in and out of the home I tended for the Lord.  I believe this is truly why they are sheep, a flock, and the human extension of God was a lamb, for we truly are all the same, and we are all impressionable, sad, and weak.

I was no exception.  It was an unmeasurable time of sexual repression unleashed in one glorious burst as I began to bite her arm violently.  I don't know why  her arm seemed so enticing, bone-dry and covered with track marks, but in that moment I could just feel the pulse inside.  At first the whore had thought it was upon her common place customers and tried to endure, until I drew blood, and ate the skin from her wrist.  She twisted and jerked, I struck her hard as she opened her mouth to scream and she instantly fell limp, though she was not dead, not until I ate the flesh off a quarter of her forearm, straight to the bone.

Once she was dead the body did not have the same revelatory taste, the  taste of life  had become the taste of death.  I ground her flesh and organs and gave it to my dog Beano for his food, and her bones were his treats whenever I convinced him not to defecate in my house.
I would continue this way for several months.  I became one with the lost ones of the world, bringing them into my holier body and bringing us all closer to His grace.  My church attendance did not dwindle, by my attendants were stranger, more dramatic and eccentric.  Eventually, one or two presented them to me after sermons, praising me as a lord with the dimensions of one with the higher power of understanding.  They would throw themselves to their knees, tearing at their flesh with their hands and teeth, begging for me to devour them.  And I would, as my heavenly duty bids.

Then one of them got me.  Upon throwing himself down, as I neared him he struck me, and I fell quickly, startled at my weakness.  I did attempt to flee, but quickly  fell ,  gasping for air.  I never realized how little stamina I had.  My attacker grabbed me and beat me until I left consciousness.  When I woke, I was bound by rope to a cheap chair in a cheap hotel room, where my captor sat in front of me.  He spoke his name, I did not care.  I denounced him as a desecrator of a man of god.  He calmly presented a hand mirror to me, knowing somehow that I had not seen my face in nearly a year.  My face was gaunt, my scalp barren and bone dry.  In some locations, it did not seem that I had skin at all.  That is when I realized my mistake.  The taste of live blood was a miracle, life was a miracle, and I was taking it.  I was devouring life, but then as well death.  I looked like death.  I was death.

I begged the man to kill me, and he did.  He took a thin knife and began slicing the inside of my mouth. carefully avoiding my tongue.  He sliced and sliced away until I passed with dry, dusty screams.
My blood tasted awful.