Desecration

Desecration Desecration

Status: Finished

Genre: Religion and Spirituality

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Religion and Spirituality

Summary

A dark short story exploring the narrator's feelings towards religion and the state of the human soul. Involves explicit necrophilia.

Summary

A dark short story exploring the narrator's feelings towards religion and the state of the human soul. Involves explicit necrophilia.

Content

Submitted: May 23, 2017

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Content

Submitted: May 23, 2017

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I wanted to desecrate.

Can you see me, God?  I placed my hand on the coolness of her stomach, brushing the skin with my fingertips.  Skin on skin, but with only half the spark of life.  It was alright.  I had enough life left for the both of us.

Do you like what you see, Lord?  I moved in slow, gentle circles, drifting to the sides of her abdomen and then up to her ribs.  I leaned in to place a light kiss upon her naval and tasted something like cinnamon and earth.  Is that what death tastes like?

This is my offering.  My left hand found the firmness of a breast and I pressed my palm against it.  It was cold and unyielding, nothing like the supple warmth that one would usually associate with the body-part.  The nipple was harder still, erect and firm.  I thumbed it, slowly kissing my way up to the other breast.  The only act of holiness you’ll ever receive from me.  I licked my way around the nipple.  There was no shudder or moan of encouragement.  Only frozen stillness.

Touch me.  Strike me.  Fuck me.  I was on top of the table now, on my knees and straddling her waist.  Prove it.  Prove it matters!  I licked at her passionately, nestling myself into the placid cold of her neck.  I nibbled.  I ran my hands through her hair, tangling my fingers in her dark curls.  They ensnared me, tugging at the ring on my finger until I finally let it slide off.  I left it to sink into the inky mass of her hair. 

This metaphor is for you, Lord.  At this moment I am you, and this corpse is my bodyYou fuck my soul.  You taint it.  I drew back, hovering over her, and saw that her eyes were fixed to the ceiling. They were glassy pools, locked motionless as they sought something from the sky that they surely would be looking for until they rotted away.  I felt her cheeks and then her lips with my hands.  They were full and firm and very cold.  I studied every detail with sight and touch as if the panes of her face were an artwork, a sculpture by Michelangelo, and I the dedicated scholar.  And then I lowered myself willingly to kiss death on the mouth. 

Do you see me now?  Do you care now?  Her mouth did not give and I used my tongue to force her lips apart.  I delved inside, tasting the moistness and lingering traces of her breath.  It was wet and cold as river mud but the flavor was still sweet.  Look at me.  Look inside of me, and see what your world has done.  See the final form of your petty creation.  This is the might and splendor of the spark of life.  The epitome of the human soul, laid bare.

With one fluid motion, I pushed myself inside of her.  It was unpleasant.  It was cold and a little dry.  But it was tight and it was enough.  I moved hard, driving myself against and into her.  There was more passion in her dead eyes than I had felt in a lover’s arms in years.  More solace and comfort came from her lips than ever I had found in a sermon.  I buried myself inside her, body and soul, until I broke and came.  I gazed upwards, eyes open but unseeing, and felt one word escape my lips as the little death tore through me.

“God,” I shuddered.  God said nothing back, and I rolled off her body and onto the floor.


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