𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐄 𝐌𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐑𝐂𝐇 ; 𝘧𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘏𝘢𝘳𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘹 𝘮!𝘖𝘊

micah saint-darlene

holy is the lamb that's slain

MICAH WAS the last to come, and he didn't stay for long. He left an uneasy impression with the rest of the family, always holding onto his rosary and mumbling prayers. No one really knew Micah. No one wanted to. He was a puzzle we never quite solved.

From the moment he arrived, fingers clutched around his bible so tight his knuckles went white, he remained a stranger to the rest of us. Micah remained an enigma throughout the short ten months he spent with us, and the sixteen years that followed his disappearance.

He confined himself to his religion, mind a hollow cathedral echoing with mumbled prayers. His detachment left us with a lingering sense of unsettlement. We truly only knew his name, and nothing more.

Micah never trained with the rest of my siblings, and he never went on any missions either. His power was kept hidden from us. This isolation might cause one to believe that it pushed us together, sharing in our ostracization, but you would be wrong to assume. He avoided us all, never partook in conversation, never revealed anything to us.

Every morning he would get up with the rest of us, pull his socks over the scars we all saw creeping up his leg, wrap his rosary around his left hand burned with the mark of an upside down pentagram, and silently follow us through the day.

Every Sunday, Mom would take Micah to church where he'd spend the whole day praying.

I think he was repenting for something.

I could very clearly see that Micah was scarred by his faith, yet remained devote nonetheless in an obsessive way, sick on belief. His room was covered in crucifixes, as if warding against an evil we couldn't see. In a way, he was. None of us knew the battles of religion like he did.

When Micah arrived at the academy, he had a single suitcase containing a change of clothes, a copy of John Milton's Paradise Lost, another bible, several crucifixes, a collection of rosaries, prayer cards, a small cut out picture of Saint Michael the archangel killing Lucifer, a stuffed rabbit, likely a childhood toy, and a prayer journal.

This was all of Micah; an extension of who he was. When he vanished, this is all he left behind.

I have nothing more to say on Micah Saint-Darlene, for I know nothing more. He is a short chapter in this book, reflective of his life. Micah's story remains untold, even sixteen years later. The only certain thing that could be said about him is that he choked on his faith. His saints were famished, and he would do anything to satiate them, even if it meant offering up himself.

Micah was a lamb, and the lamb loves to be the sacrifice.

— Vanya Hargreeves in her book Extra Ordinary

® divine-violence

March 24, 2024