Original Fire

Cover Original Fire
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Genres: Fiction
He was what fell out when the jug tipped.
He was waiting at the bottom of the cliff when the swine plunged over.
He tore out their lungs with a sound like ripping silk.
He hacked the pink carcasses apart, so that the ribs spread like a terrible butterfly, and there was darkness.
It was he who turned the handle and let the dogs rush from the basements. He shoved the crust of a volcano into his roaring mouth.
He showed one empty hand. The other gripped a crowbar, a monkey wrench, a crop which was
... the tail of the ass that bore them to Egypt, one in each saddlebag, sucking twists of honeyed goatskin, arguing already over a woman’s breasts.
He understood the prayers that rose in every language, for he had split the human tongue.
He was not the Devil nor among the Fallen— it was just that he was clumsy, and curious, and liked to play with knives. He was the dove hypnotized by boredom and betrayed by light.
He was the pearl in the mouth, the tangible emptiness that saints seek at the center of their prayers.
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