Puppetry

A Synergy Sort of Sunday/Something About Sin

A heartbeat. Two. Three. I could barely sense her or her sunlit Son there as I grabbed some water from the sink, struggling for a breath or some control. "It's my body, isn't it? Besides, what do you want it for? I can't do anything yet...and you killed my love life..."  Panting. Like a dog, as her hand touched and pushed my hair back, her son gleefully giggling and smirking. "kILLED iT, YoU SaY? hOw?"  His eyes invaded my soul like a hunter gently attempting to draw in prey. 

Stammering. More gibberish, and an–"I know you, don't I? You sound different...spine-tingling. You're Jesus, I know–but everyone else will see you as a murderous–" "EXACTLY! AaAnd SaDlY sOMe PeOpLe JUST DoN't GeT tHe PicTuRe ThAt I'vE ReTuRneD. IgNorInG sIgNs..."

"I think they haven't ignored it, they're just...uh, misinterpreting it. So–what's that have to do with me, anyway? You've been dragging my head around for three years now and I still haven't gotten anything close to a conclusive answer, my Lord..."

An uncomfortable silence, then a cough before at last a command was given roughly translated to "open your mouth", which at first just gave me the willies by just the forcefulness of it...the terrific force of a white-haired man with a flaming crown on his head should not be ignored, dammit. Man, that sentence sounded stupid and crazy, didn't it? WELL, IT AIN'T. 

3:14 p.m. 3:36 p.m. The dreams, at least the significant ones, have stopped in their tracks. 

Am missing them more and more. Now all that's left are the acid-trippy dreams that I won't even attempt to understand. Another test of faith, maybe? Or because I stopped looking? Or was it some other weird game to be played between me and them? 

10:16 p.m-12 p.m. Nothing truly of note. Distracted again, and struggling to control myself. Breathing has become sparse, yet I pray I do good by her as a vessel for His word.