Judgement Day

The Horns of Liberation Sound....

The horns of liberation reverbed in my ears once more– I hear them throughout the day, and they blare the loudest when it is time for judgement. And because of that judgement, the church has been shrinking nonstop, free of more and more forsaken souls. I remember all of them when they were still wearing skin– they were all too much for this world.

The first of many ways Joseph Lotton. He was an executive at the local Southeast Bank just past 23rd Street. He was a man of routine, always brewing a cup of coffee by seven-thirty, dressed in his grey suit by eight, and always made it to the Sunday service at nine on the dot, no more no less. Despite the strict manner in which he lived his life, he presented himself as a gentle man, the type of guy everyone always felt they knew even if they never uttered many words to the guy. The few times I spoke to him after service was over, he had a way with his words followed up by a nickel-slick smile that could’ve charmed me in another lifetime. And every day after that, he’d tell me how nice the flower pins in my hair looked and the choice of long, flowing dress I chose to wear that day.

If I didn’t know any better, I might’ve been pulled in.

My neighbors knew him very well, making comments about how their kids called him “Lotty” and were frequently called to pick them up during soccer practice. He was everybody’s neighbor, he often said. And I think he really meant that with all his heart.

Much to their shock and everyone else’s, judgement day soon came to him. His clothes were found in his office on the 5th floor. No body. No hair. No blood. Not even a speck of dandruff. He had simply left this world without a trace. The window to his office had been shattered, but even then there was still no trace of Lotton in the very few glass shards that were still on the ground when police arrived nor the pavement below.

Not long after, it had been leaked to the police that Lotton had been laundering money for a select few parties outside of the city. The details on it were fuzzy initially, no surprise considering his position in town, but eventually, the news had come out that his primary clients involved a few smaller gangs in the tri-state area, primarily the Soots over in the neighboring capital city, which was the most violent one out of the many alleged. Needless to say, it was a shock to the system for a lot of the people here, especially my neighbors, who had fallen into radio silence for several long weeks after his passing and his subsequent condemnation. He’s no longer Lotty to them at this time, as should be the case.

He was the first of many to be judged by God.

A significant one out of many that followed was a priest, Reverend Clement, who I had known since I was a little kid being taken to Sunday service by my mom. He was an older man, around the age of 53 before he had been called for judgement. My mother and him were quite close for a time, always speaking warmly to one another when service had ended, or whenever she had come to donate some food to the charity box on Thursdays. Personally, I think it was just an excuse for her to see him again. She was the type that couldn’t really help herself sometimes.

When he saw my mother in a warm light, he always looked at me with an obstinate disdain, as if I had been an obstacle in the way. Every recital, every donation I had made, every charitable act I had put in, it never seemed to be enough. It was always a shadow cast from bitterness and frustration when I crossed his view or when we spoke in the short bursts that we did. “Your obligations should be taken more seriously, Lilly.” “The sins you have described to me should be formally-performed, Lilly.” My only regret is that I hadn’t done everything to his liking before he had been spirited away.

Judgement day came for him a few weeks after Lotton. His clothes were found in the confession booth, his glasses having been broken in front of where his tunic was. There was less respect given to him than the likes of Lotton, no mistake at all– considering what was found out about him later, he was not owed anything for his service, and I think God agreed with that sentiment. When the police came, there was the scent of smoke that filled the air, seeing that his clothes had been burnt horribly, perhaps from a chemical, but I believe it to be a type of holy fire that had drowned him out and burnt his body to nothingness.

It truly was an act against a horrific man.

Once again, a leak came out from the news, this time from a personal witness. What came out was very lowkey, with many victims later soon coming out after they had heard of his judgement the day after. They all had worked up the courage to do so after the first came out, but his judgement was even more of a signal for many to come out from the woodwork and tell their stories. I kept track of each of their names– Lena, Candice, Soren, Lacy, Daniel. It was difficult to find their names since the investigation is still fresh and there are some co-conspirators involved in the case, but I intend to speak with all of them more fully when I get the chance to. To see such a wretched sinner gone, and the joy they feel in their eyes when they hear of their liberation fills me with a great amount of pride for my community.

Unless, of course, any of them must suffer their own judgement day.

The latest one to be judged was my mother, Lily Grant. She named me after herself, likely out of a sense of self-importance she never truly had. I knew my father only for a short time– my mother was an adulterer and had been able to gain custody of me in the messy divorce by laying a few alleged charges on my father that she had never gone into full details on. But she couldn’t keep that hidden from me for long– my father never hit me or her, no matter the circumstances. But I had no say in the matter since I was so young. And ever since we moved here, I had never been able to see him again in order to tell him how much I miss and love him. Hopefully one day I will get the chance to do that, but until then… I’ve been stuck in a town of sin for so much of my life.

She always saw me as an object to be paraded around for her own selfish needs. Perhaps she thought that her child would be the key to her success, considering she had been a failure of a restaurant owner and was still recouping from the losses of that, which she constantly reminded me every day of my life. It was why I needed to be so devout. It’s why I must be the perfect woman for someone to marry later in my life. It’s why I needed to be the best at everything when I was in school, in grades and sports. Everything needed to be perfect so that I could be her little moneymaker.

It was a miracle that judgement day hadn’t come for her sooner.

***

The horns of liberation had sounded in my head as her judgement day had arrived. I found her, lying naked in bed in the dead of night, directly on the holy hour I would perform my adoration every night on. The lack of clothes made for less of a hassle, and I was overcome with a sense of relief when I realized I wouldn’t have to remove them myself. I stood with the powerful tool in my hands, shaking with utter excitement as I stood over her body. A twisted smile spread across my face as my body had begun to sweat in this utter anticipation. The string was pulled and out came the roar of the saw.

What came next was her sudden awakening to the tear of the fabric of her blanket and the bloodcurdling pain of the blade pushed into the stomach. The flailing and the screaming only made it worse, as every bit of strength in my arms was being used to tear it up. The wet splatter across my face gave off an astral feeling in my cortex as more had flung against the walls and floorboards. Her screeching mixed with mine, though with the ecstasy flowing through my brain, it soon turned into a hideous laughter as I dragged farther and farther up. And in her eyes, where her fear was most palpable, I looked back until my eyes had begun to dry up, redden, and tear up.

But I made no mistake. There was no sadness. There was only this existential dance I was having with God, who had given me the power for this judgement.

And as savory as it was, it had to end eventually.

The engine started clogging with both fluid and solid matter until eventually, it had slowed down completely, filled with too much red matter that it was too much for it to handle. And once it had finished completely, I had thrown the broken tool down onto the floor. And as the blood of Eve had dripped onto the floor, I dove to the foot of the bed and uttered a soft prayer in His name. I took more of the crimson essence and smeared it through my face and hair as soft, quick words ran from my mouth, as a token of my graciousness for the same blood that ran through my veins.

“OurFatherinheaven, yournamebehonoredasholy. Yourkingdomcome. Yourwillbedoneonearthasitisinheaven. Giveustodayourdailybread. Andforgiveusourdebts, aswealsohaveforgivenourdebtors. Anddonotbringusintotemptation, butdeliverusfromtheevilone.”

And afterwards, there was silence as I stayed knelt in this moist atmosphere, softly dragging my hands along the bloody mess made on the floor, with skin, bone, and all manner of flesh strewn about. I soon stood up and began preparations after this small moment of peace The Lord had given me for carrying out His judgement. I proceeded to walk out, pulling the body with me to the shower to properly clean both of us, and to make sure what was still inside of her body did not spill out. There was a delicacy I still washed her body with, even after such brutality. There was some part of me that remembered my teachings, even after what had been done had been done.

Though, I still enjoyed her in this state much more. Cleaned of her sin. Removed from this world and placed where the soul belonged. That’s how it should be. And soon my time will come.

I dragged her body into the basement with the others, sitting them in her chair amongst the rest of those who partook in judgement, and sat at a long table. She was going to be the first of many brought to the supper. There were so many buried yet to be excavated, like the early Lotton who I had bludgeoned with a bat and pushed from his office window. And such a great memory from the Reverend, who I had sedated and burned with a frail match. The very memory of his judgement brought another Dopamine hit to my brain in that moment, watching his skin sizzle while knowing that later, I could drag his name through the mud on what he did to me. What mother had allowed to happen because she liked him so much more than daddy.

They will all partake in the last supper. All 13 of the sinners I had taken so long to investigate. Because I was made to be perfect in the eyes of mother and God.

But the horns of liberation will sound soon again.

To signal one more judgement day.

My judgement day.