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// 11/1/2014 
// Story: The Last Days of Parrsboro 
// by Eakin 
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11/1/2014

Everything is in place. The Heart sits on the altar, runes carved into place just as she prescribed. All who gaze at it are filled with awe, at both the craftsmanship and the future it represents. We’re ready to bring Her love to the world, to fill every mind with nothing but the purest devotion, ready to be remade by Her will. The worthy and faithful will be rewarded. The others will be forgiven... perhaps. It is not our place to question Her judgement, only to bring about Her desires. One member of the congregation steps up, unable to control himself, and presses his palm onto the sacred relic. The Heart glows, and the man doubles over as he begins to scream. Two others step up and pull him away, dragging him to the side of the room where there’s space as his flesh starts to warp and change.

When it stops, he’s beautiful.

The chanting starts. Through the window a burst of colors not of this world sears at our vision. Closing ones eyes does nothing. The light burns through our eyelids like flame through tissue paper.

It won’t be long now.