The moments of Gods

Violently bright colors seemed to envelope the great room, scintillating shades of light, expanding and heaving like fantastic creatures brought to life in the starkest reality. The models were beautiful; they were divine things ravaged from some great unknown kaleidoscope, its intricate fragments enslaved to mortality for the rest of time. The room itself seemed to pulse with the excitement of a god thrust upon the world to enjoy the finest and most fragile of humanity’s luxuries. Eccentric wealth and corpulent beauty was the flaming shrine upon which the heathens danced and bowed before-- and they crawled down on their bellies like worms and set themselves on fire without a moment’s hesitation.
         Standing upon the pedestal, playing her scene before their hungry eyes, she could feel her insides kneeling before that single omnipotent presence herself. She felt voraciously powerful, scantily clad before the masses in the most delicate and rich laces and silks stolen from the Mother earth. Tall and lean, a body of the starving children of society, here she was revered  by her handsome sanctity. She tried not to feel as though this moment of intoxication was the greatest in her mundane life, but this hard, fluttering thunder in her breast cried out the truth of her deepest immoral avarice.
         With the turn of a heel, she departed from that landscape of mewling wastes, the god turned from its disciples without the slightest hesitation. Even as she passed from the stage, into the shadowed walls behind where facades were cast aside like tattered sails, that feeling, that presence of divinity, swallowed her soul like the rabid hounds of hell come to call.