“You know I don’t believe in you anymore, right? Well, lately I’m in the habit of diatribes against inanimate objects. Don’t feel special, just add yourself to the list. Those hymns used to mean something to me, you know. I thought there really was a point to all the Gloria and Alleluia.… Now I know that we’re never supposed to test you. Another scrap of info I recall from Catechism. You’re the great example and ate rocks instead of bread or something like that. So I’m not testing, I’m already beyond believing.

“My life is worthless right now. Without the one person who made it all worthwhile, it’s just not… worthwhile, you know? I loved Nic with every piece of my being and I know your spokespeople don’t really condone that but it’s true and incontestable, as sure and natural as the ocean’s tide. I’m finished without him and I’d love if you could at least pass on a message for me ’cause I’m pretty sure he’ll be in your arena. Tell him I love him. Tell him I can’t do it here without him and so I’m crossing over to find him. Fifty-fifty chance there’s something beyond here, right? Those odds are better than what I’ve got here.”

The sculptor placed the inverted head of Jesus back on the table and reached for his chip carving knife. Without ceremony or any final contemplation, he slit his wrists. The blood started to pool around him as he sat on the floor. It felt warm, and the funniest thought came to him. He was emptying himself of the emptiness. He almost laughed and then felt light-headed. He never was very good with the sight of blood. The sculptor closed his eyes and began lowering himself, but his hand slipped and expedited his descent. Funny, blood has no smell, he thought as it began to cover the marble tile in front of him. Black, white, and red. But it tastes like salt and clay. The sculptor felt very tired and began to close his eyes for a sleep when he sensed something moving. Don’t be ridiculous. You’re all alone. His eyes lackadaisically lifted half-mast once more before closing for good.

Funny, feet coming toward me. In a pool of blood he recognized a set of toes. Toenails. A broad foot. The tendons just visible ripples under the skin. The meticulously carved calves inviting a deranged hunger to bite… and he was gone to find Nic.

October 13th