#sheecool

The Master picked up the vessel, charred and wasted from a previous nights shenanigans. As they walk together to through the kitchen to the bottomless pit of the forgotten and useless, they know exactly what is going to happen next. At this particular revolution of the cycle fate is inescapable…the vessel knows that salvation and rebirth looms around the corner and the ends justify the means.

The vessel, now empty and hollow, sits on the granite surface naked, scared, and as still as a lion moments before the pounce. Suddenly the ground disappears and great falls from porcelain Gods caress the vessel inside and out…washing away memories and soot. The water is stained red below.

Forced to remain open and vulnerable the vessel sits surprisingly numb and disinfected. It takes in what it’s Master feeds it. Sometimes what goes in is sweet and light--a summers breeze; Other times the master is harsh, sometimes making no sense at all. But the vessel does not ask questions for fear not making it to the end.

A hypnotizing odor fills the room. Only one thing could have happened here, for the smell is distinct. When the vessel is full, like a mind brainwashed with propaganda, the Master covers it in darkness by a grand silver blanket. Air becomes scarce and the vessel verges on insanity. But the Master, being a merciful lord, gives the vessel air holes to breath. Merciful and mad the Master is and with every pierce of the sharp wooden end to the surface of the vessel is bursting in excruciating pain.

The end is almost near. The Master, done preparing his sacrifice, places the vessel atop a pedestal. Others begin to gather. Voices seem muffled under the vessel’s silver cage. Through the pierced holes the vessel sees raging fires and sparks spewing from distorted embers. From the pedestal, the faithful serpent slithers into the hands of the Master, while another prepares the golden embers for the final brand. Burning hot embers are placed atop the pedestal engulfing the vessel in a raging fire. Cool sweet air of the vessel’s soul filters through the inner pipes of the pedestal and into the lungs of the Master. Everyone in attendance sucks from the carefully prepared teat. The vessel’s destiny is fulfilled.