Betrayal spins round me like the jeering faces around the dizzy freak. Made to feel he is a house divided unto itself, this freak supplicates before the priest, who drops the host upon his tongue as he mutters the benediction, "Deliverance in this life." "Consecrate the ovine faithful unto me," the priest cries to the heavens, "and I promise you (k)no(w) quailing before the knife; you shall go to your quietus quietly, without protest, without a whimper or a tear of regret."
The freak loves no one, friend--not even himself whom the priest is charged with protecting him from. The freak sees bodies as meat to butcher for the gustatory delight of all. Sharpen the knives, then, and ready the spit; the hour of feasting draws nigh.
Grant that this sacrifice be made acceptable!
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