SNAKES, snakes entangle his heart, crawl through the scant, tight, spaces in his blasphemous soul. The stained glass windows arch over their crouching forms forbiddingly; he feels so SMALL against the LORD’S holy light, it’s difficult to breathe with all the dust in the air, mingling like love starved bodies against the dark backdrop of the chapel. Robert Small enters this divine forest with purpose && a knife in hand: he’s ready to hack away at the overgrown ferns && chaparral riding up the side of the Church from years of DECAY, MISUSE, && NEGLIGENCE.
He’s prepared, to put that GOD-SERVING BLADE to use, && tear through the very gullet of the diabolical vessel that makes homage in the Minister’s honeyed, meridional, vocals. ‘ Please…’ He says, retreating backwards in his finally spit-shined church shoes. ‘ You’d be an idiot to pull through with this…’
IT WAS IMMEDIATELY OBVIOUS TO ROBERT THAT JOSEPH KNEW WHY HE WAS HERE. A snarl curled across his sharp features, gritting his teeth. Not once had he broke rhythm in his step as he stormed closer, blade adhered in calloused hands. He moves at a quick pace, stopping just short of the minster’s toes as he jerks his hand upwards, blade stopping just short of the thin layers skin of Joseph’s throat threatening to slice through, prepared for what would ensue if he were to follow through, ready for the blood to be on his hands. For once, this would all be worth it. God knows Robert would follow through if enacted.
He gives a husky growl, stale cigarettes and whiskey tattooed to his breath from years of abuse, though with his stance, it couldn’t be any clearer that Robert was shockingly SOBER. ❝Good thing I’m a fuckin’ idiot, yeah?❞ he’d reply, not once breaking eye contact. ❝I should have done this a long time ago.❞
