|
Member
Join Date: May 2007
Posts: 20
|
Morality of devastation
Today Santiago destroyed the Universe.
Santiago turned his head around, staring joyfully at the mindless destruction surrounding him. The stained glass windows were broken, the gold was stripped from the altars, the statues depicting saints were demolished...
And the Christ that used to hang in the altar, suffering excruciating pain and asking for sacrifice from his followers?
He was beheaded.Santiago was in ecstasy. Behind him, there were another dozen of young souls, eager for more devastation. Everyone of them was smiling, watching with awe their masterpiece, the obliteration, the manifestation of years and years of relentless moral pounding on their brains and on their guts.
All of them dreamed for this day. Before, they where anxiously waiting for the night everyone would have the guts to do this. Before, it seemed so difficult. Climbing the walls of the church, then entering through the little opening behind it... Yet, once they were inside, everything went so fluently. A bunch of degenerated teens with bats, bashing and smashing every little statue, every window, every altar....
Bashing and smashing God.
They were the well-behaved kids from Mexican, middle class families—always obligated to come every Sunday to mass, and to listen to the pathetic sermons of an old man that died the day he became a priest.
Gustavito, please comb well your hair. Ricardo, please polish your shoes, you don't want other people to see you like that! Armandito, don't sleep here at mass, what will the other people think about you?
And every time their parents would order them to comb their hair, polish their shoes, and stay awake at mass; each one of those kids would lower their head, nod, and stay quite, with the sour taste of impotence in their mouths.
However today it was pay-back time.
Santiago turned around to face the crowd of his followers—his new brigade of destruction. Everyone of them looked upon Santiago with a sign of hope in their eyes. Everyone of them, had at least broken something in the Church.
“Fuck God!” Santiago shouted with all his might.
“Fuck God!” the chorus of alienated teenagers energetically replied.
Santiago, the leader of the brigadiers, was the most special, and perhaps, most destructive of those alienated teenagers. He was the masterpiece of a conservative family, the perfect middle class, goody-two shoes specimen. He was the valedictorian of the best catholic school money could buy, he played cello at the local orchestra, and he wanted to be a famous surgeon.
His parents paid thousands of dollars to the specialists of morality to create a functional member of society.
And then, one day Santiago just snaps and sends everything to shit.
Santiago walks from side to side, like a pendulum, in front of the altar. He glares at each one of the brigadiers, scrutinizing with his eyes each one of their souls. He comes to realize that everyone of them, was miserable and weak till this day, for this day was the day of their emancipation.
“We are a generation of teenagers raised by warm milk, tradition, catholic schools, virginity, and God.”
Santiago paused for a bit.
“...and we joyfully reject all that! The only morality we now know is the morality of disaster.”
The teens experienced a moment of epiphany. Until now, they didn't realize why they enjoyed so much beheading Christ, throwing bricks against the invaluable stained-glass windows, cursing God, and demolishing statues of saints.
They came to this very important realization:
Once you are not afraid of Hell—once you kill God...
everything is possible.
|
