mala fide (lams)

mortuus

dead

IN A SWIFT MOTION JOHN HAD SAT UP, the darkness of his room offering a cool awakening.  He put his hand over his rapidly beating heart and gripped the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.  To calm himself he began to take deep breaths.  His body was clammy.  He touched his stomach to ease the strain he'd put on himself jerking awake like that.

Outside through the cracks of his blinds he could see the sliver of a streetlight - that and the bright moon in the clear sky made the outline of his curtains glow ominously.  John never thought himself afraid of the dark so it was strange that he was a teenager, nearly an adult, who had suddenly developed this fear of whatever was lurking in the shadows.

He wondered if the devil hid beneath his bed.  Would it be crazy to imagine?  That maybe he was so broken beyond salvation that Lucifer preyed on him like a predator in the wild?
Or was he being an idiot, and God had a plan for him?

If this was a test from God, he hated him.
He closed his eyes.  Why me?  Why me?  Why me?

He half-imagined his mother coming in and hugging him as he sobbed and let it all out in her safe arms.  The imagination was less of a memory and less of a hopeful wish than it was a longing dream of his mother ever coming back.  She was gone.  There was no coming back.

John opened his eyes.  The window was too exposing.  He creeped out of bed to close the blinds tightly and pull the curtains together.  He ran back and got under his covers quickly, childishly afraid of this imaginary malevolence.

When he was safe he touched his chest again, then touched his thigh.  He sighed deeply.  He felt such sadness.

He wanted the sadness to leave...

His hand creeped towards the drawstring of his sweatpants and when he felt his fingers twitch, he startled and pulled his hand away.  He didn't want to think about it anymore.  He remembered what Jesus's Love for Salvation had taught him, how it was sinful to want to touch yourself like that.  How it led to worse sins.

He didn't want to feel like this anymore.

WASHINGTON'S VOICE resounded through the theater, light and matter-of-fact.  "And so we're going to do some rough rehearsals of each scene from the top.  Let's first get the rabbi on stage."

John sank in his seat as he anxiously beat the script against his bouncing knee.  Beside him, Alexander was reading over his own lines.

"You've been doing great so far," Alexander whispered suddenly, looking up to John whose face twisted, unsure, even as he remained staring at the stage.  "I know, I know, having a lead role is intimidating for your first show, but this is going to be fun.  Rehearsals are painful now, but it's 'cause we're still reading from scripts and being prompted.  In a few weeks, we'll be making magic.  You've got that innate spirit of an actor in you and it's very apparent.  Honestly such a bummer you didn't do any shows before.  Seriously.  They could use someone like you."  He cleared his throat and awaited a response but nothing came.  "You okay? Not super chatty, today." He paused. "Maybe it's because I'm being too chatty. Tell me what's on your mind."

John looked up at a loss for words and shrugged. They remained in anticipatory silence for a moment longer. "This play is... heavy. I don't really want my... family coming to see it. I don't want to be on stage and acting like—" he cut himself off. He didn't want to actually unload any of his baggage on Alexander. He also didn't want to be outwardly homophobic because he really didn't want to hurt anyone's feelings and knew how much it hurt to feel hated in that way, so he decided not to any anything.