St Sebastian (arrowplagued) wrote in forgotten_gods, @ 2010-01-05 16:06:00 |
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Entry tags: | pestilence, sebastian |
Who: Sebastian and Pestilence
What: Corruption, obviously.
When: We'll say... Monday evening?
Where: Some cheap hotel, somewhere in NYC.
Warning: God only knows...
It had been nice, spending a couple of days with people who tended to ignore the fact that he was who he was and the wounds he had to show for it, considering his whole life seemed like it had become about those marks of his near-divinity. He went back and forth, unsure of they were a curse or some sort of parting gift. In truth, he enjoyed the pain and the blood and the fact that this was God inflicting these wounds on him.
Were there any communication between Him and the saint, Sebastian might have thought that maybe his relationship with God had been restored. Unfortunately, no matter how hard he prayed or for how long, all contact began and ended with that vision on Christmas morning. It was one hell of a vision, that was certain, but it didn't leave him with any more than a feeling of longing and the taste of blood in the back of his throat. If anything he was feeling more empty now than he had been before, remembering what it was that he'd once held to tightly to. If only he could get that back again... And maybe, he thought, that's what the wounds finally appearing meant. Maybe he should see this all as a blessing, as an effort to remind him exactly who he was - something he had lost since Hari.
But that still scared him. And as much as he would have loved to put himself completely at the hands of God, he needed the physical body there to feel grounded. He could think that it hadn't always been that way, but it was a lie. He's always had prominent followers - artists and writers and a philosopher here and there - who had held him down and kept him grounded. And in the plague days it was the disease itself that ruled over him. So there had always been something there, physically, with its grip on him. And now that there wasn't he just felt lost.
And maybe that's why he kept coming back to this cheap hotel in the middle of some part of town that he had no business being in. It wasn't the same hotel, in reality, but they all looked the same and felt the same and smelled the same... He sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at the static on the television in front of him. His head ached, his whole body felt warm and part of him was terrified that the wounds had gotten infected and the fever was just the beginning of the punishment that was about to follow. A little delirious, all he could do was stare into the black and white field of technical snow in front of him and try not to think; about anything.