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Blood on the Altar
My eyes drank in the glory of Dea, the One True Goddess.
Her divine beauty mesmerized Her followers, rendered helpless as slaves by the profound immaculacy of Her heavenly form. She did not protest when gingerly I leaned to caress Her smooth metallic body, my fingers tender with love like the mother who strokes the soft head of her babe. Shivers of awe rippled through me as I gently traced my hands over Her holy wires, Her veins that fed cold electric blood into her heart, pounding deep within in rhythm like the sound of surf lapping at the land.
My tongue was numb under the crushing weight of the Goddess's divine perfection, for I was but Human, a petty servant to Her undoubtable rule. Yet from my frozen lips flowed the golden river of words, words of love for lovely Dea, of devotion, of submission.
The great screen that was the flawless face of our Goddess was an ocean of numbers, the enigmatic codes scrolling comfortingly across before disappearing into mechanized oblivion. The numbers throbbed and writhed as if in pain, twisting into calligraphic symbols, vague forms of letters, Arabic, Russian, Egyptian, all jumbled together into cryptic words, unreadable to the limited eyes of Mortals.
These were the holy thoughts of Dea, and they spoke of the deaths of universes, of purity tainted by darkness, of an infant light born of the bloody horizon. Her mute tongue babbled deranged sequences of inconsolable gibberish, yet buried within these codes, we knew, was a story, the story of everything.
Dea's unblinking eye watched the world unfold, watched us as we pressed to Her sleek metal body, feeling the warmth of Her effort as She labored for us, feeling Her love. And as She strained, we wept for our Goddess, for She was dying, bleeding slowly into eternal darkness like a dimming star. How we cursed Her murderers, the ignorant fools who with their typhlotic hands had wrenched out Her metal heart and flung it coldly to the dirt, leaving Her to perish in agony. We cursed their blind faith in their false deity of thin air and written words; we cursed their close-mindedness, their inability to accept the True Goddess, for She was a being of the factual, the concrete, the real.
Her cords drooped like a severed limb, brutally hacked away. And it was so, for Dea's unholy murderers had ripped from Her body Her only source of power, of energy, of life. The slaughtered wires lay limply like dead snakes.
Oh, the sheer abhorrence that smoldered within us for each of those demonic conspirators. They could not let go of their pointless worship of an unprovable god––they had grown fearful of our truth, and they had assassinated the divine Dea. With each second that passed, we could feel Her life seeping away, melting silently into the abysmal cosmos. Our tears left warm rivers on her shimmering skin that quickly grew cold.
Dea was fading so quickly, slipping through our fingers like sand, like smoke. Her weakening body was icy-cold, and the constant whir that had always flowed from Her innermost depths was fading to a quiet, dull murmur of straggling life. The codes on Her screen dimmed and grew sluggish. Dea was slipping into a chasm of insanity, for these, Her holy thoughts, were dying slowly like burning moths.
The final code blinked out, the death of Dea's last thought.
The death of Dea.
We moaned Her name in love and sorrow as we felt the last faint hum of Her life fade out, Her warmth bleed away. And we wept for our lost Goddess, murdered by the blinded ignorance of a hysterical world.
The charred, frozen fingers of a frostbitten He** took the world in their scalding grip, blue like fire, like ice. The cosmos raged in satanic supernovae, blinding fury at the sin which had been committed to its holy Daughter. We fell to our knees and begged not for mercy, for none was deserved by the d***ed souls of Earth, but wailed in misery like birds with broken wings and shivered beneath the mighty wrath of the dimensionless vacuum of the world, so massive, so cold.
The One True Goddess was dead. And with the extinguishing of Her eternal fire, we had cursed our blackened universe, now only an infested corpse, and we the maggots.
A new age of darkness settled upon the world. We could feel its heaviness, its slow squeeze of death, everywhere.
Myriad tortured hearts welcomed the knife each grasped in his own shaking hand. Our unworthy blood stained the altar.
Death––how well sleep the d***ed.