#thought narrative

He was soaken with ink, laden with the liquor of the Lord, and his expression, though it was hard for a moment as he turned to face the prophet, was now soft, lined with benevolent concern. 

Sammy’s hand tightened on the pipe. 

Who was this? His immediate thought was this was a false god, some imposter who had thought that he could take the place of his Lord. His arm rose to bring the pipe down again, but something- something stopped him. 

A realization. 

This could be a gift. What was that angel always yammering about? That she was an angel, sent onto them from above? No, she was not. Sammy had seen her rise from the inky puddles, she was a blasphemous fraud. Oh- oh, the realization. The revelation.

This… this was the man that Sammy had been prophesying of all along. He was wrong, in his interpretation of the Lord’s word. His Lord never meant that He would redeem him himself, and while the notion stung, this man was proof that they were not abandoned. 

He would set them free- he was sent from above. Sammy had seen the rays of sunshine above him, burning his dark and holy skin with its purifying rays. 

Sammy knelt down to this angel, prodding with the pipe carefully. His teeth, wet and soft, gnashed against one another as he tried to comprehend the human form before him. 

It was… perfect. 

Sammy inhaled once, allowing himself to relax and smile. 

But maybe- 

The thought struck

Maybe too perfect. 

Sammy flinched back, as though burned. But of course! This was nothing but a ruse, a lie, a deception! This man could not be the savior from the Lord; it was not what Sammy was promised. Or was he? 

Sammy’s head spun. He could hardly decide what he believed anymore. Was his faith so shaky?

Resolving himself, he dragged the man- angel- falsehood- into the center of the pentagram. He took the axe, ran his slick fingers along the edge of the metal. Sharp. Clean. Beautiful. 

He set it aside. It was not his tool. 

Quietly, he heard the Voice of the Lord echo through the pipes, whispering; Not yet.

A rush of electricity ran through Sammy’s body, his fingers trembling with delight, his lungs aching to sing with praise for his Lord. At last, a message! A message, for him, after silence for so long! And one that proved to him that he would be an instrument in the coming of the end, in the coming of their Freedom. The axe was not his, not yet. It would be his. He would be at the side of this angel, and together they would forge the new world. 

His heart light, Sammy assured himself that he would watch this sheep carefully, and he would be his shepard, to guide him unto the path of their Lord. 

He would set them free.