Guns (sevenmm) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2009-06-07 21:01:00 |
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Entry tags: | guan yu, guns |
Who: Guns and OPEN
When: Late Sunday night
What: St. Paul's Chapel
Warnings: TBD
Guns has the burden of being inspirational. Though many follow him blindly, he is the source of many epiphanies, altering personalities and psychologies forever with death and destruction. After years of piety, there are those that forsake him, questioning their actions and choices and sometimes turning their faith on themselves. It lends him a painful ambivalence at times; it comes in great, nearly overwhelming waves, as he holds it off until he's forced to address it.
Now is that time.
It's late, but nothing ever closes for Guns. He is beyond doors, walls, fences, and any other form of security. He is, after all, a god, and when he feels humble there are so few places he can go. It must be some sort of sacrilege for him to be here, this devourer of life and hope, but the candles in St. Paul's only seem to glow brighter when he appears. Guns only feels like less of a juggernaut when in the supposed presence of God. God, the big 'G', the end-all and be-all, the source and object of so much fascination and horror. It's among the sturdy pillars, the arching columns, the thick stained glass, that he feels just a little smaller.
He stares at the floor, hands in his pockets. Who does a god pray to? His stride is exhausted as he moves towards the front, to stand in the aisle and stare up at the altar. Where is God? Under the table? In the wine? Behind a pillar? Guns laughs at everything, but he isn't laughing now. He's anchored by a hundred thousand crises, the soul shattering tears of the about-to-die, the regret of mobsters and assassins and impulsive lovers.
And so he bows his head, and prays.