Just Like The Brady's

𝙿𝚛𝚘𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚞𝚎

I had always been told that one day, when the world stopped treating it's subservients as if they had a due to pay for being allowed to inhabit a place we were essentially destroying as the currency of this transaction, that my life would find its purpose. I could never learn it through books and knowledge, or find the answer buried deep within the study of mankind's cruelest creations taking form in those who scared neighborhoods into locking their doors at night and installing alarm systems. I was told that my whole life.

"You'll know your purpose when it matters, Spencer."

"You're going to change the world, Spencer."

I was twelve when I was told those things. Twelve and naive enough to believe that all of us were put on this earth for a reason rather than to be used as a placeholder in the background for those deemed worthy of purpose, to fill in the negative space so that the center beauty captured in life's portrait was accentuated to its fullest potential.

I met her believing that she was my purpose, that the storm pouring love and sin we brewed together that cracked harder than thunder sent down from the gods would be the priceless masterpiece the big bang destined to happen. The high I felt when our bodies came together, every stroke, every touch sending lightning coursing through my veins as a distraction from the poison infiltrating my mind.

My entire life was full of countless information, and with each piece of knowledge came another person believing that my mind would form a mural of my life completed with academic accomplishments, and discoveries made to better the planet. However exciting as that sounded to a naive little boy, I grew up, came face to face with pure evil, and still willingly dropped to my knees in hopes that I could indulge in the forbidden fruit of creating my purpose in another human being.

She allowed me to, speaking of only beautiful lies I held onto as the lifeline I believed them to be, basking in the faux sunlight of her warmth that filtrated my body until I was addicted to her sweet nectar. She was the reason for my ability to feel as though I climbed the tallest mountain, yet the cause for destruction that came with the avalanche of my downfall.

"If you're going to kill me, do it quick," she whispered, leaning forward into the blade held against her chest in my shaking hand, sighing at the first trickle of blood that dripped down between the navel of her breasts. "I do not wish to live in a world where you cannot look at me as you once did."

"I could never look at you any different." I was not strong enough to push the knife into the heart I once believed beat for me as mine did for her, but I could not live with myself if I moved away from the opportunity to end all of those who are suffering at the same hands that cradled my face after my admission of truth with such delicacy, a tear threatened to escape.

"You should." The sound of metal hitting the floor echoed as I abandoned my only weapon in favor of replacing the handle with her body to pull close to mine. Every shade of red swarmed behind my eyelids when the breath of life escaping her met my own lips in quest of salvation.

All sins shall be forgiven unto the sons of men: But he that shall blaspheme against the Holy Ghost hath never forgiveness, but is in danger of eternal damnation.

There was no greater blasphemy than bedding the Antichrist.