False Prophet

False Prophet, Chapter 9: The Helium Road

The incomplete world where gravel and glass are in distance from further than forever ago. I’ve been in the dry heat for hours… too many chemicals pulsing through my body. I’m sinking under the lines. Striking the first thing seen. Diluting the water within. Put coal in my bowels and cook my brain. The infinite shards of glass cut my soles and then melt into my skin like the asteroids that came before. The rings of blood around my ankles.

The smell of dust and salt without water. The incomplete messages on the chalk board that won’t exist in front of me. How I will have my periods of nothingness done in a timely manner. A wasteland of suburbs where the dirt should be. I see old men waiting alone in the wilderness and wonder if they’re evil. I have pity for the rapists and life-takers. Then my love for humans mysteriously sprouts up once again. Then I free myself from my own self.

The planet wobbles on its axis while men in suits race by us. Everything is shaking with a constant hunger for completeness. The ship on a maiden voyage rocking back and forth will know how to stay afloat. Until it sinks. When I was young I yearned for penitence. I went to confession and he told me it was okay. He asked if I could trust that the church would not fall on top of me. I figured I could trust the stones and wood. He said faith in God is like having faith in the building not crushing you. I can put faith in trees and the Earth for most of the time, but God is made up of men and violent water, which I could not bear to trust for the majority of my short existence. I’m sorry, sad, lonely man but I cannot put faith in a masked shape with blood caked upon its skin and pouring from its clenched fists. I cannot have the love for little children guided by shepherds. Innocence tricked me into believing in dreadful horrors when I was a little child.

And so the pathway to the sky unfolded in my eye once the priest went behind the curtain; the road built with fragile, multicolored balloons. I will die over and over and under again on that pathway. Once I reach suborbital space I won’t be satisfied. We must keep him frozen in cryogenic sleep. Dreaming of mice made of metal, and knowing there is no praying in the vacuum of nothingness.


Pagan Gods Did Drugs

Janice drifted through space. Her eyes were open but she could barely see. What would have been an impenetrable void was filled with only shadows and light.

“Jan-us. Jan-us. Jan-us.”

The sounds of an inconsequential voice barely penetrated her ears.


Janice had to struggle in order to complete the word. The simple, one syllable question was barely able to depart from her coarse lips.


The sound quickly transformed into a din when it reached her ears.

“What the fuck do you want?”

She imparted these words almost automatically. Janice did not want to hear the world around her. That was why her blistered but colored lips were able to open up and impart her honest inquiry. Janice was drowning, and she loved it. Her throat pulsed as she struggled to pull every shallow breath deeper into her chest.


A man was calling her name, trying to get a last response from the doomed female. Her face duplicated itself on the back of her skull and she could see forwards and backwards eternally. She realized that every moment with every altered variable was alive. The universe was an endless anarchic weave. If it were not for the dark abyss, she would not have wanted to wander the ocean floor. The water made her realize that, even though she was free to drift whichever wave she wished, she was still carried in every which way, through and to any place.