#need feedback

I had an idea (ok well, my dad of all people recommended it to me), I could utilise my one singular skill:

Being good at making funny shit in Microsoft PowerPoint.

Do that on Fiverr, charge like, £1.50, maybe £2 per slide?

Generates income, AND it's something that I don't hate doing.

I need some feedback on this....

Monotony. Week by week, every day is the same, just like Valentino wants. He prepares himself the same as he does every morning. There is comfort in the simplicity, happiness in the order. Monotony, the bane of the adventurous. But for Val, monotony is what keeps his thoughts at bay.

The ceiling of his room taunts him; the light of a pale dawn casting odd shadows through curtains never opened. He despises it. The reminder that another day has started, and there is nothing he can do about it. He stares up at his ceiling. Lost in the maelstrom of thoughts swirling around in his head. 

“Why does mass have to be in the mornings!” Val groans, throwing off his blanket. He sulks past his covered mirror. There is a monster in that mirror. It wears his face, but it is not his face. It can't be. He knows that can’t possibly be Valentino. he proceeds on his death march through the bare minimum level of maintenance to stave off the inevitable. The absolute minimum to hold off the decay his body and mind accumulate each day. 

Despite his melancholy, he proceeds through his Sunday rituals. It starts with a shower. He leaves the lights off, grateful for the lack of windows. If he can't see it, it can't hurt him. He scrubs himself down the same as always. No thoughts. No self-hatred.  He brushes his teeth and fixes his hair, avoiding his reflection in the bathroom mirror. 

Another day like any other. Not that Valentino can tell the difference. 

“¡Oye, Tinito, desayuno!” his mother, Maria, calls up. 

“¡Un segundo, mamá!” Val calls back as he finishes styling his hair in what could generously be called “artfully disheveled.”  he storms down the stairs, eager to eat breakfast. 

Valentino eats the same thing every day. Two slices of toasted sourdough, with an avocado spread and topped with a fried egg each. Breakfast is one of the few places Maria enjoys consistency as much as her son. Val watches her as he scarfs down his breakfast. The way she dunks a bolillo roll into her coffee every day, not that he can understand how she tolerates coffee without sugar…

It doesn't take long before they are on their way to Sunday mass. Val dissociates during the car ride. He has complicated feelings for the church: reverence, respect, fear… but mostly, it makes him feel unclean. 

Valentino doesn't know what sin he has committed, but he feels its weight upon his shoulders anyway. He feels dread build in his chest as he steps out of his mother’s car. “Original sin,” they will preach. Sins of the father, passed down to son and daughter.

It makes him sick! It makes him feel small and alone as he is filed into the pews. He tries to dissociate, to flee into that merciful oblivion that devours his thoughts, but he can't! Under the gaze of the Virgin Mother, he is made to be small. Where others find exultation, he finds only panic, like prey being driven before the wolf pack.

Rise, kneel, sit, kneel, sit, stand… The movements blur together as Val recites the Rosary from memory, his voice overlapping with others until the steeples echo like the buzzing of a million bees. The voices rise higher with each prayer uttered, fervor rising with each confession of sin. It feels like nails hammering into his soul. Valentino can't bear it. He watches the flock, the priest, the Virgin presiding over them. Anything to avoid acknowledging the searing pain wrapping itself around his heart. The tightening of his chest as panic sets in.

He watches the men, pillars of faith standing stoic and unyielding. Masculinity is important to the church. A man must be strong; he must carry the burdens of his own soul. As well as the burdens of his family. Val is made to feel small. Filthy. An imposter wearing the skin of a man, yet unable to fulfill the role foisted upon him for the crime of his birth! He watches the women, the way their veils dance with each gentle movement. The litheness. The warm light of femininity shining radiantly in each word spoken. Val finds comfort in that light. Safety. The sweetness of the flowers on the holy altar, the silken vestments borne by the women of the flock. It soothes Valentino; it makes him feel safer in the church. Safety and comfort he cannot find anywhere else, especially from the men of the flock. Shame burns his face. 

 Unworthy. Sinful.

Where the men are stoic and unfeeling, the women are gentle and kind. The Virgin Mother, crying above them, far more kindly than the depictions of Christ suffering on the cross. It makes Val feel disgusting. He can't help his sinful eyes as they trace the veil of the Virgin Mary. An Innocent act, yet Val feels sullied all the same. He knows there is no lust or ill intent in his heart, yet he feels the defilement of his gaze creeping up the icon of his saint.

 Blessed Mother, forgive me.

Where men stand as pillars of faith, Valentino crumbles like salt. In the catholic church, masculinity is a simple truth. Valentino stands alone, amongst the dozens of souls. A lie in the house of god. When Silence is commanded, reflection called for, Val hears only the voice of God, damning him. 

Unworthy. Unclean. Imposter. 

As the congregation departs, Val walks towards the confessional. He prays to the Lord that none of the flock also seek its mercy. He can not bear the thought of waiting. Thankfully, he does not have to.

“Forgive me, Father.” Valentino sits, sobbing in the confessional. “I know not what sin I have committed, but I feel its weight! I am unworthy before the lord and cannot be made clean. Please absolve me of this guilt, that I may once again feel the love of the Lord!” Val doesn’t know why he tries. He knows he is broken; he knows that his prayers will not be answered. Val doesn't bother to remember what the priest says. It doesn't matter. It will not absolve him of his sins. It will not free him from the pain he carries. He leaves the confessional in tears.

Monotony, week by week, day by day. An endless spiral of self-hatred for Valentino. Endless days of avoiding reflections. Endless days of wasting grey apathy. An entire lifetime of counting each grain of sand as it empties into the bottom of the hourglass. 

Nothing keeps the thoughts away.

In a (hopefully) perfectly good and queer way?

Literally like most ‘friendship kills the god monster’ type shit