11-28-2023, 12:54 AM
October 16, 1978.
The moon hangs bright and full in the starless, obsidian night sky. Peering down
ominously - like the eye of God - upon every act of man. Taking account of both the
wicked and the righteous.
A long black car stops in a sprawling field near a withering stand of trees. The headlamps
switch off. The driver exits, rounds the back and opens the passenger door. An older man’s
body slumps to the side.
“Get the fuck out.” the driver snarls, pulling the body from the seat onto the ground.
The driver moves to and opens the trunk, where a second older man lays conscious
but moaning.
“Move.” barks the driver.
The man climbs slowly, clumsily from the enclosure, falling at the driver’s feet.
“Stay there.” the driver commands.
The two men are relieved of their robes. The driver proceeds to remove each of their
casaques with a box cutter, leaving them naked on the cold, damp soil.
“On your feet, both of you.”
The men stand and are prodded towards the treeline where they are shackled together
at the ankles, a mere six feet of freedom between.
“One will receive mercy.” the driver informs in chilling monotone - tossing a long, shiny
dagger onto the ground separating them.
“One will be set free.”
The two priests fumble to a sitting position, staring up at their captor.
“The whims of evil have overtaken but you can still beg forgiveness on his name.” the first man says.
“Where two or more are gathered, there also shall I be.” the driver recites mechanically
before walking to the car and returning with a large metal can of kerosene.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” the driver declares with guile.
The men are quickly soaked in the combustible liquid, crying out in protest as fumes of the
pungent oil overwhelm their senses.
“Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, my will be done.” the driver asserts, holding
a book of matches.
“Stop this! Do you realize what you are doing?” the second man yells.
The driver offers only a dead stare, then strikes a match. The smell of sulfur invades the
crisp night air.
Two steps towards the men is all it takes.
The first man lunges at the blade, grabbing hold of its elk antler handle, plunging its length
into the second man’s chest.
The driver fans the match out. The second man lay bleeding, gasping, the blade piercing
his heart. His killer crawls away as far as the shackles will allow, falls into a sitting position and weeps.
“Look what you have done! You monstrous demon!” the trembling man shouts between sobs.
The driver strikes another match, allowing it to catch the entire book.
“What is this? You said one would receive mercy and one would be set free!”
“One did receive mercy. One was set free.”
The driver moves closer, flinging the lit matchbook at the condemned man. Flames ignite
and consume the screaming Father, his howling scatters a clamor of rooks previously watching
from the upper branches of a nearby elm.
https://imgur.com/CVMTRFw
"Blessed Are the Pure" - Second in the three-part series 'Carnelian'.
Mixed media on plywood. My 137th painting.
The moon hangs bright and full in the starless, obsidian night sky. Peering down
ominously - like the eye of God - upon every act of man. Taking account of both the
wicked and the righteous.
A long black car stops in a sprawling field near a withering stand of trees. The headlamps
switch off. The driver exits, rounds the back and opens the passenger door. An older man’s
body slumps to the side.
“Get the fuck out.” the driver snarls, pulling the body from the seat onto the ground.
The driver moves to and opens the trunk, where a second older man lays conscious
but moaning.
“Move.” barks the driver.
The man climbs slowly, clumsily from the enclosure, falling at the driver’s feet.
“Stay there.” the driver commands.
The two men are relieved of their robes. The driver proceeds to remove each of their
casaques with a box cutter, leaving them naked on the cold, damp soil.
“On your feet, both of you.”
The men stand and are prodded towards the treeline where they are shackled together
at the ankles, a mere six feet of freedom between.
“One will receive mercy.” the driver informs in chilling monotone - tossing a long, shiny
dagger onto the ground separating them.
“One will be set free.”
The two priests fumble to a sitting position, staring up at their captor.
“The whims of evil have overtaken but you can still beg forgiveness on his name.” the first man says.
“Where two or more are gathered, there also shall I be.” the driver recites mechanically
before walking to the car and returning with a large metal can of kerosene.
“Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.” the driver declares with guile.
The men are quickly soaked in the combustible liquid, crying out in protest as fumes of the
pungent oil overwhelm their senses.
“Hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, my will be done.” the driver asserts, holding
a book of matches.
“Stop this! Do you realize what you are doing?” the second man yells.
The driver offers only a dead stare, then strikes a match. The smell of sulfur invades the
crisp night air.
Two steps towards the men is all it takes.
The first man lunges at the blade, grabbing hold of its elk antler handle, plunging its length
into the second man’s chest.
The driver fans the match out. The second man lay bleeding, gasping, the blade piercing
his heart. His killer crawls away as far as the shackles will allow, falls into a sitting position and weeps.
“Look what you have done! You monstrous demon!” the trembling man shouts between sobs.
The driver strikes another match, allowing it to catch the entire book.
“What is this? You said one would receive mercy and one would be set free!”
“One did receive mercy. One was set free.”
The driver moves closer, flinging the lit matchbook at the condemned man. Flames ignite
and consume the screaming Father, his howling scatters a clamor of rooks previously watching
from the upper branches of a nearby elm.
https://imgur.com/CVMTRFw
"Blessed Are the Pure" - Second in the three-part series 'Carnelian'.
Mixed media on plywood. My 137th painting.
