Universal salvatioN

Monterey. That old Spanish trading post, Mexican province on native�s land breaching out into the Pacific from the California peninsula, it was there I caught the odd vision. Monterey. With its sailor cafes and those painted shell shocking shops, of gaudy, candy bright souvenirs and the painted sand dollars, all eyed distortedly lazy from the bottom of an algae encrusted tank by tonight�s crustacean meal. Monterey, it was there that I opened my midday eyes and saw the angels, backs braced with slippy, sliding feet on god�s silver-cloud-kingdomed-land trying valiantly to hold back my dawn, half slung across this still Western sky, skulking quietly in one corner, awaiting the results of their endeavour with the patience of a saint.

Except the saints were frenetic, Gabriel, hammer in hand, was boarding up the sun, methodically lifting old railway sleepers from the East Coast Mainline, providing consternation at Virgin head office, and tapping neat, sliver light flashes into the star. He seemed blithely oblivious to Ahpuc, who for this special occasion had risen out of his Mayan death bed and joined the cosmic trouble makers in ripping away the bolted nails. Tearing them away with his sin-capped teeth. Yet he too seemed oblivious to the planks as they shuttled earth bound. Hells lucky weapon: stamped approval of heaven, but then again that was how it often went really.

Joining in the battle Seraphim passed holy water to Cherubim in a long fire-bucket chain, tipping absolution on that middle aged hydrogen half-life. And pausing in his work momentarily Gabriel popped open his umbrella, letting the stray drops of grace trickle between the glowing lettering. Curious I inched closer and read the corporate statement.

Direct-Line Salvation.
Get-Out clauses guaranteed! .
Protector of Virtue and Dignity.
Est. march, 0BC.
AOL Keyword: pray-messenger.

And then I noticed, fluttering at my shoulder was my winged bull-dyke, her glistening olive-oil skin bearing the brand, a tiny strawberry triangle outlining each proud nipple, which explained the red-tipped wings and Vulcanian, Star Trek pointy ears. With a calm quirk to her face she observed the progress of the chorus, commenting wryly as dawn skulked ever closer and she aided the process, calling more of my favourite demons to join the fray. I sighed and sank to the road and watched a black beetle scuttle across the dust, his life ending sharply as I flattened him with my fist, as at the same time fragments of wood sharding from on high, shot down around me, drawing a tight circle, henge like in their form, cage like in their purpose. I sighed, weary of this internal war, there was no quick end in sight for me I observed, as the last stake jammed into place, narrowly missing my foot as I tried to step from his magic circle.

�Child!�

He boomed from above the nimbus morning and I did not bother to rise to my feet. The clouds parted with a weary sigh of wind, and a glistening stairway to his majestic throne revealed itself. Hovering obediently above his curls were those ever present Alpha and Omega, little earth spirits, oddly dull recently, they had lost some of their sparkle with the Millennial run on Suicides, and no-one had seen fit to re-charge them yet. Raising a sanguine finger God beckoned my still form forth as he slouched on the throne. Wasn�t playing that incarnation game today, oh well, I see. But my feet obeyed, even as my Taurean heels dug firmly into the tar ground. As I approached he reached determinedly to his throne-side table and I raised my eyebrows at the loss of ceremony. He must be busy today; there were no servers in attendance, not even a crucifix, borne high in the hands of virgins, naked, delectable, a tempting sight even to this unfaithful. Not even incense I realised, sniffing at the breeze with the air of a connoisseur, just the mob heavy approach of Universal Salvation. Rising not, he prised open my jaws and tipped the still warm blood of his son into my reticent flesh. Past my palate it flowed, dripping into my stomach and no matter how much I retched, fat, bulimic fingers against my reflex point, could I rid myself of that forgiveness. Overhead the spirit took kindly form, casting pity across the scene with its many eyes. And slowing the hum of Titania�s gossamer wings jutting prominently from its back, it flitted softly towards me, manifesting the dry wafer, proffering it gladly to me.

�Help�s with the nausea� it offered by way of explanation.

Claiming them quietly I chewed, and had to agree that the hitherto sickly feeling of half-hearted forgiveness faded. But as the gentle calm overtook me her face flashed through my mind, and I spun in rising panic to find my bull-dyke still hovering, out of disguise now though, the vision of my mother replaced with manifest earthly reality.

I quickly liberated a lightening bolt from unsuspecting Zeus and snapped it in two, casting the discarded half on Manchester; well they would hardly notice an extra storm. I raised the other in my right hand and stabbed it forcefully into the flesh of my gut, once, twice, thrice. But there was no heavy rush of fluid to my feet. I could not see my entrails. I could not see them, where are they? Why are they not here, why?

��Where are they?� I pleaded out loud to the Lord.

I glanced down, and through the three jagged holes, points of deep on my stomach, a crimson Orion�s belt, I could see that blood. Happily nestled in the walls, that river of Moses, plague of mine. Sat there, a ruby layer across my lunch, swelling, rising and falling gently until watching the motion began to make me feel queasy again and I dropped to the floor, crushing my legs into my chest, arms tight around my body, rocking and swaying, cushioned in the soft tendrils of cloud. It wasn�t long before I noticed that I could not feel the wounds, and looking to my stomach I was only pale skin, no satisfying gorge, no hint of self-mutilation and I felt the anger burst through me again, how dare he take that away from me, how dare he! That was mine, my mark, my brand to myself, evidence of my own guilt and sin. It might be wiped clean for some, but he had robbed it from me, my own divine thief in the night. I picked up the lightening bolt again and raised it high, open defiance to Them, my arm proud and strong as the shafts of deviled morning broke over us all. Gabriel, his heavenly consorts and I, all bathed in the shards, our forms shining glorious, too brilliant, too bright I realised as they vanished into dust. I did not raise my hands to my eyes, did not steel myself from their mellifluous end but stood higher, prouder and the lightening stake hovered over my heart.

At my side they both appeared, the Trinity in it�s strange round-about union, an ever twisting, swirling circle of childhood radiance and next to them that deified form of my earthly mother. As the tip of my spear pierced my skin in hedonistic joy I heard them speak as one.

�We can do this the easy way, or the hard way�� They threatened, her harsh voice, that ever-present drone of childhood years, emerging full and proud from the mouth of my Lord.

That threat was the last thing I heard as the rod plunged into my chest, snapping my ribs like twigs underfoot, and the clouds beneath me melted, casting me into the darkness of my morning. Ever falling, ever spinning, leaving me to wonder just when I was going to hit that rocky bottom.

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