It began with death, as all good stories should. But it wasn't a good story. It was sad. It was lonely. It was desperate. And just like the way it was designed, it was full of pain and longing.
It was the death of the most beloved person in the city. Each and every time she walked into the room, she filled it with glimmering sugar coated shit. Of course, like all good socialites, she hid the shit part way beneath the surface – only reserving it for those closest to her, where she could be her most selfish and condescending self.
The death didn't happen quickly, though. It was a long, gradual death. One in which the lifelessness slowly crept in and started spreading like an undetectable haze that filled a room so slowly that one couldn't even perceive it was happening until the whole room had been filled.
Of course, this story isn't really about her death. It is about the death of those who are closest to her. Those who commit suicide to feed her ego. Those who sacrifice their very essence as a means to prop her up upon the golden seat in which a Goddess would sit. She could literally be heard saying she wants to be worshipped everywhere she goes, and if those closest to her fell short on that worship then they were easily the first to be degraded.
And the condescension ran deep. If those closest to her would so much as leave a dirty dish in the wrong spot they would have to hear about how wrong they had done by giving her so much more work, and essentially being made to plead that they promised to never do it again. And even then, it may not be enough to satiate her desire to repentance.
If she found herself hurt by something those closest to her would do or say then they should dare not explain themselves, but rather immediately begin begging for forgiveness. For it did not matter whether the action was done with malice or with the best of intentions, for she was hurt and those closest must only worship the great goddess.
Of course, when she didn't have to be incredibly close to someone, she played the saint. She played the role of helper to all those who were closest. They couldn't possibly get close enough to her to see the landmines she had buried around her inner circle. They would always be held at just the right distance that they only saw her for the tremendous friend she could be. And she would do tremendous things for people. It is why she was regarded so highly as the Goddess.
But to those closest to her, if they didn't see things the way she did then they could not see reality, and she ensured they felt they were every bit as crazy as the Goddess wanted them to. It was intoxicating in the worst possible way. The power was incredibly sexually riveting. She could spit in your face and make you want to beg for more of it while wanting so badly to orgasm. I suppose that is what happens when you get too close to a Goddess and can't match their power.
But a person can only fly so close to the sun before they burn up entirely, turning to nothing but charred rubbish. You see, once someone flies close to that kind of power, and stays too close for too long, they truly start to believe that everything is their fault. Their guilt runs so deep that they believe every problem that exists in that Goddess's universe is the fault of their own. The only thing left when someone feels that small, and carries the weight of that much guilt, is to die. Sacrifice themselves to the power of that Goddess that they have devoted so much of their time and efforts to.
And the only thing they can hope when they sacrifice themselves to that power is that they do it in a way that doesn't lead to condescension, because the last thing someone wants to do while they are dying is wishing that they could have an orgasm as they simultaneously die from the weight of how small they've become – a bread crumb resembling something of a boulder. Dying while begging their Goddess to go out and find someone worthy of them, dying while hoping their Goddess is adequately praised, adequately pampered, and adequately pleased – filling her inside with every bit of pleasure as she desires.
But they, deep down inside, know that even that self sacrifice won't be good enough. They will do something wrong along the way, and when that happens they will be – cock in hand – begging to be made feel smaller for their inadequacy.
-Dustin S. Stover
Comments