48. News
Daddy says when he fucks me, he fucks mummy. Playing on my mind like that is not right. Naturally I comply, after the sob, sob sweet tales of ardour and fidelity. Says I’m doing mum a favour; says her spirit will be happy. But there never was a photo of her in the house except for a faded picture kept in an old shoe box of a smiling solitary woman. Only once he showed that to me; when I was little, right after the notorious and unforgettable cheesecake incident by the fridge. Could it be a sham? He said he couldn’t bear seeing her on a wall or on the tabletop, or in the flap of his wallet. I can’t remember her face other than a set of carefree, sanguine eyes. In my dreams she’s always fuzzy, like someone scratched her features out deliberately. Is she even real? Or did he cook her up just to sedate me? Open me up willingly.
I was a rebellious teen; c’mon, that’s only normal, even in girls of good household. In public, however, we’re a righteous example, an inspiration for single-parent families. I can’t say he kept a leash on me; I had healthy relationships with others my age. And somehow, I didn’t have the heart to confess and spoil his good name. Dad’s congregation adored him.
I wonder if they still would if the truth was laid bare for all to see. His close quarters knew and partook of my cup, but the general flock was oblivious of their leaders’ filthy transgressions.
Now the secret’s out. To the left of the headlines concerning the Illuminati’s initiative of a manned mission to Mars to discover the cosmological origin and ancestry of intelligence is an article of two-hundred-and-twenty-two words with well-placed, grabbing captions.
---
Pastor shot dead on toilet bowl
A pastor was gruesomely murdered yesterday in a bizarre ritual killing. Head investigator, Detective Lingam, states this could be the initiation rite of a new fertility cult in town. Police have an arrest warrant for a man in his early twenties known only as Jimmy. Sources claim the daughter of the man of God is also missing, and feared abducted.
As of now, the names of the victims are held until a thorough investigation is conducted. Authorities fear further violence committed against others of the pastor’s church. However, hundreds have turned up for a vigil for the safety of the sixteen-year-old, as well as to mourn the loss of her beloved father.
Members describe Jimmy as outspoken and outgoing. He joined the congregation two months ago, and has occasionally been seen in the private company of the abducted female. He was simple and helpful, and his association with such a cruel crowd came as a shock.
The pastor was found early morning by the maid in the toilet. A fatal gunshot wound to the head was the cause of death. According to the detective, his mutilated genitals and symbols written in his own blood on the wall suggest the scene of sex-occult worship. Police have also not ruled out the possibility of a lone serial killer.
---
What! Nothing about his perversions?
This was yesterday’s paper. The daily takes one day to download around here. Illuminati mentality is city-centric. Network signals rarely exceed one bar in the rural zones.
Of course, what was I thinking? Dad covered his tracks well. Not a mote to give him away. Condoms discarded, dildos wiped clean (cops will assume they’re mine anyway), fantasy wardrobe and BDSM paraphernalia surreptitiously rented through third-party accounts, no smut traceable online, and sperm stains bleached out even from powerful ultraviolet light.
As for the pagan statue and Eucharist, the idol sacraments and rich religious artefacts, they confused the cops, leading them to think that Jimmy and I are some kind of bullshit blood-orgy ritualistic sect. And me, an abducted weakling. Society waiting for news of my butchered body parts gruesomely found in dustbins all around the city; the perfectly placed head, abdomen and torso, the well manicured limbs providing the police more clues to close this macabre drama with the arrest of a brilliant, but disturbed, cult figure, who psychologists analyze and conclude came from an abusive and dysfunctional family.
Dream on.
Daddy and crew prayed to a moustachioed dwarf with an elongated penis. A ruddy countenance of pride and joy graced his face. Exalting Jesus was just a front. How pathetic was it to cry out to a man crucified on two sticks? Such a joke. An invisible resurrected god that was all spirit and no substance. Boring. A religion requiring blind faith, belief not fleshed out, but merely a concept, just an inspiration. Never the real thing.
They idolized virility instead. Sexual prowess. They worshiped the phallus, and since they carried that organ everywhere with them, they believed they were incarnations of this squat god with a cannon too discomfiting for his own diminutive size.
Although, all of them were just sad and puny. As proxy of the priestess, I was to lay hands and grant them her blessings. One by one, I stroked till their passion enflamed, and they swore allegiance to Small-Man Big-Dick with contorting cries, jerking joints and lurching limbs.
After that, I was solely in charge of the messy cleanup.