Glory

It's dark in here, in my little chamber. But I've gotten used to it. No external light is needed when you have a fire burning in your soul as I do. It's a sacred fire, handed down to me from Him, the Lord of All Creation, the only one who has the power to light such fires in the hearts of men.

Men. That's why I'm here. To redeem them. Reclaim them. That's what he's led me to do. Christ walked among the sinners and so must I. Well, perhaps I don't "walk." I kneel. I crouch. I hide. I squeeze into this dark and cramped space. It's not always pleasant. I don't always want to do it, but then even Christ prayed for deliverance in the garden, and I don't mean to claim my load is anywhere near as heavy as His.

Here is where I have promised to spend my nights. They don't always come. Sometimes, weeks go by with nothing. In these times, I begin to hope my job is done. I begin to imagine that no more sinners are left to soil my God's green earth. But there's always another. The dark one is crafty and knows well how to tempt and corrupt.

A form will approach with careful, but heavy footsteps. He'll block the light that streams into my chamber through the little hole I've made. I'll hear the jingle of a belt buckle, the scratching of a zipper, the flap of fabric as it falls to the floor. And then there he is. Over the years that I've been serving my God in this way, I have marveled at the sheer variety to be found, and in a place I never thought to look before my calling. I have seen all manner of fleshy colors: light, dark, even splotched and freckled. They vary widely in size as well, and in many other characteristics. These observations have been an unexpected blessing. They are further proof of my Lord's creativity and ingenuity. I feel no shame or guilt in admitting that what He has shown me is truly beautiful.

And that is what makes this work all the more important. Such beautiful things, given as a sacred gift to each and every man on this planet, are used daily for such depraved acts as the ones these abominable sinners hope to commit with me when they step up to my hole. God has chosen me to stop them. He has given me certain talents and abilities. These men have no idea that, when the door clicks closed behind them, I have rigged it so that it cannot be opened again from the inside. Escaping is usually far from their thoughts, though, when they feel me begin to stroke them. I find this helps to lull them even further. Sometimes, I'll even go so far as to take a man into my mouth, just for good measure. I don't enjoy it, of course. I do it to fulfill my duty, and I'm sure God forgives this. You must believe me.

In any case, when everything before me is firm and taut, the time is right at last. I reach for the gardening shears I keep nearby. They are my trusted companions, never in need of more than the occasional sharpening. Usually, a single, swift snip will do the trick, but there have been times when it hasn't. Perhaps this form of torment is reserved for the most depraved sinners.

Once the cut is made, I slide out from my place and head in to see the majority of the penitent. By this time, some have the wherewithal to pound on the door and seek escape, but many more are simply in shock. The sensation of the cut often throws them backwards, and I find many lying against the opposite wall, eyes wide, screaming bloody murder, and clutching the place where they now find themselves to be incomplete. From here, there is only one thing left to do. I bring my shears, of course, to finish the job. This, you may believe is yet another sin, and under other circumstances, you would certainly be right. I, you must remember, am a holy servant, called upon to do extraordinary things in extraordinary ways. This is all part of His plan for me, and just as with the acts I commit with my mouth, I know I am forgiven. You must believe me.

Bodies can be disposed of easily enough. I am always guided to the perfect spot. The parts I remove, I keep, however. I take them with me. These I use in a very special way. The flesh, once drained of blood, is soft and malleable. I mold the pieces together, crafting His holy likeness from these parts used for sinning. In doing so, I redeem them, cleansing them of the evil that has touched them, recycling them in honor of His glory!