Babies are born crying because they hear clearly. Without mommy filtering things Death starts comming in loud and clear. It starts telling them that no matter what their life is like its going to end, that nothing they do is going to matter one damned bit. It says it with the confidence of millinia behind it, Death knows what its talking about.
Even when we get older we hear it. When its quiet, inside and out, the loudest bit of the Symphony that comes through is Death. Cause it keeps talking to us, assuring us that our time is comming. I spent alot of time alone with Death, and I hated it. I liked everything else about quiet. The worse was when Death started sounding sweet. That's when I'd drink or screw or do anything else I could to make myself stop hearing.
On of those things was try to appease death. Dogs, cats, an occasional goat. All offered up to Death at a graveyard. I didn't wnat Death to answer, but it did. One of Its demons came to see me, pulling a body out of its grave to talk to me. The demon told me that I could escape Death, that I could fully embrace my service to it.
I accepted, anything to make all that fear go away and to have that hideous certainty on my side. The ritual was nothing like what I expected. It was at a cathedral, way out of town, rarley visited and now made up with all sorts of strange icons, that blended grotesque and absurb. A still born baby was placed on the alter by a man wearing a paper meshe jackel head and costume robes. Black candles were carried in by painfully thin woman that looked like goth crack whores. The demon's face was painted up like a skull and he wore a top hat. None of it made sense to me, I just lay in between the rows of pews like I was supposed to and waited.
The demon chanted, and the man in the bad costume chanted, and Death spoke louder than ever. It sounded somewhat angry, screaming at me for daring to escape it. I was affraid it would claim me then and there, to prevent me from escaping it. Then something foul was poured down my throat and suddenly Death spoke kindly to me, like a father would speak to a favored son.
That's the way its talked to me ever since. I can hear it now, telling me about how I will help it rise up to drown out the rest of the noise that I can hear now. Terrible strains of music, about flowers and fire and justice and mercy. Aweful bits that try and convince me that my soul is gone and that I'm lost. I am not lost! My soul is mine more than it has ever been. I am immortal.
Which is why I'm not worried now. The angels have done their worse, and its just a matter of time before I get back up. They riddled my body with bullets, left me in some ditch. It doesn't matter that I can't feel anything anymore, cause Death is assuring me its only a matter of time. I catch some fleeting bits of the other sounds, and try to hang onto them like Death tells me. I need to come back like a good boy, cause Death needs me to help it win.
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Chris Anthony <[email protected]>
Angel of Information Dissemination