The Baptism

Sometimes I stared at the sunset in hopeful glee that one-day things will turn out all right for me and all those sorrowful and “untrue” feelings will go away. It was a stupid, time wasting activity, I know. But I couldn’t help it; the sun was so beautiful and reminded me of a fruit that I could grab out of the sky, take a rather large bite, and then taste citrus and juice of the universe dripping into my stomach. But most importantly, it was because of the bright colors radiating out of the horizon. That’s what really got to me.

My father went to jail when I was young. Some people would care, like my mom. Not me though. I barely knew him, and to be blunt I hope I never do. Nothing good comes out of meeting with the weak. That’s what I call prisoners, freaks, preps, nerds, all of them. They are weak of mind, heart, and/or soul. People like my mom, whose best friend was a bottle of jack and a heart full of regrets were one of the weak too. I don’t care about the weak though, it’s not like I’m trying to crucify them or something, and they can do what they want, which is mainly living in cliques and in “social stratified groups”. What a load of nonsense.

So anyway, I had stopped looking at the sun and all because I knew it was looking stupid of me to do so. Therefore, I met up with my good buddy Joab. Yeah I know, it seems like a weird name, but his parents are Jewish or something. He was behind the 711, smoking a cigarette.

“What’s up man,” he said to me as he offered me one of his cigs.

- Nothing much, I said. He lit up the cig, but I didn’t take a puff of the sinful smoke. Rather, I stared at the front of the cigarette, which burnt bright and long. It was smoldering wonder, waiting to escape into the real world, full of magic and evil.

“ That’s damn terrific. Listen, I know this old house by the corner of Gregory and Ivy, real old house, nothing fancy, and I realized the old man who lives there has gone to visit his damn family or some other s***. He’s supposed to be loaded too. I figured tonight would be as good as any other to hit it up. What do you say?”

At first, I said nothing. To be honest, I wasn’t paying all that close of attention to what he had to say. We’ve robbed a good amount of houses, not to mention stolen some cars. The best part was that we never got caught. I didn’t really care about the robbing and stuff. I did it because I had nothing else to do, really. Besides, I was still staring at my cigarette. Then I said Sure, why not.

“Good, go get the car and we’ll go now.”

I ran over to my house, grabbed the keys off the counter, and went to the garage to get the car. Suddenly, it came to me. Perhaps it was because I saw them, in their red goodness, sitting next to the barely used lawnmower. I got this real big grin on my face, with the realization to what I could do with them. I quickly loaded them up and started the car.

“Jesus man, what took you?”

-I had to find my keys, I said. He got in, oblivious of the prizes in the trunk. How could he know? He was a fool, and very much weak.

As he talked in his usual fashion about some chick at school, I thought only of the thrill of what I was going to do. I could see it all unfolding around me, and it was glorious…

It truly was an old house. It was a two story, Victorian age house that looked like Stephen King’s dream home. Easy to break into too. These old people generally had a trusting nature, and the house itself was old enough that it might deter other bandits. But not us, no sir. We knew what we were doing; we were experts. Break in, go through drawers, ransack a little, and then get the hell out of there. It was surprising monotonous in how it was put, like a to do list for a day involving cleaning and errands. I haven’t seen a list like that in a while.

Joab used a brick and smashed the front door handle and lock. He moved in fast as flames when it came to robbing. He flew through drawers and took apart furniture faster then flan blades ripping through air. It was an art form, to say the least. I assisted with very little; it wasn’t like I didn’t want to, but this was a mere overture to what was going to come. Oh sweet bliss! It ate at my core with expectation. Even when I was throwing the television out of the window I could only think of what was to come next.

After about twenty minutes, Joab bolted out the front door with a good amount of money and merchandise. I did the same, only with a substantially smaller plunder. We threw the booty into the backseat of the car and Joab got in.

“Come on man, let’s roll!”

I ignored him, and opened the trunk. There, inside, were the two holy grails, the two tablets in the Ark of the Covenant. I took them inside, much to Joab’s fear, and started to let the two jewels flow into the house, room-by-room, hall-by-hall, floor-by-floor. It took me about ten fast and glorious minutes to empty the holy water into all the necessary crevices. After the first stage, I calmly walked over to Joab and asked Got a cigarette? He looked at me funny, but then gave me one. Then he lit it up. I was ecstatic, but I hid it so well a preacher would never be able to see through me. I took the cig over to the front step, threw it in, watched it connect with the gasoline, and up came fire, most beautiful fire.

“What the hell did you just do? What did you just do? Why-What the hell?” and other such vulgarities came from Joab. But I didn’t hear him. No, I didn’t hear or think or remember. I forgot my dad in prison, my mom’s drinking, that my only friend is a deadbeat, and my own real loneliness. All I could see was the flames, burning bright and strong, and I swore that while looking at the house combust, I could see God. It was marvelous.





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