Read Online The Sadist's Bible by Nicole Cushing - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Nicole Cushing
Ads: Link
at
this late stage. If that didn’t provide evidence of her carelessness, her disregard for them, then what would? She was a bad daughter, and now it was too late for her to transform
into a good one. She’d made too many decisions that ran counter to the way she was
raised to be a good daughter. Besides, her parents had grown too senile to participate in any sort of game-changing heart-to-heart.
She hadn’t been close to them since middle school. Conversations between her and
her parents were superficially pleasant, when she visited twice a year and phoned twice a month. They were old now and had moved to Florida, so they could be closer to Destin.
They’d been much older-than-usual when they’d had her. They’d struggled a long time
with infertility, and called Ellie their “blessing”. She was their only child.
They were closer, in age, to grandparents than parents. This made them more
conservative than most parents. They’d wanted her to marry a godly man, bear godly
children, dote on godly grandchildren, then fall into a godly grave.
And why not? Maybe they weren’t being closed-minded or repressive. Maybe they
were simply relying on a way of life that had proven its worth over the course of
centuries. Maybe traditions weren’t such bad things. Maybe self-denial wasn’t such a bad thing. For example, if she’d practiced self-denial and not looked for online sex chat
sessions with other women, she would have never had the experience with the fake
teenager.
By seeking to engage in acts of abomination, she’d put herself in a position to be
hurt. Perhaps, if there was a God, the incident with the transvestite was His way of
punishing her for violating nature’s order.
God was perfect, therefore His universe was perfect. Nothing happened by mistake.
Even the fact that she was suicidal was part of the divine plan. But what purpose could
her misery (and possible self-destruction) serve?
Her hands shook as she lit another cigarette. Maybe God wanted her to die so that
her sin could not contaminate any other woman. That could be it. Yes, that made sense.
Suicide as a sort of self-imposed quarantine.
But the emotional pain en route to suicide: what was the purpose of that ? Why could she not simply kill herself joyfully and be done with it? Why did she suffer a constant, ugly gray ache in her head?
All pain had a purpose. When she was a child, she’d had an intense pain in her
stomach. And the purpose of that pain was to send the message that her appendix was
about to burst. The doctors took it out, just in the nick of time. Pain had done its job. It had sounded the red alert.
Maybe the emotional pain was there to bring her – literally – to her knees. To knock
her down a few pegs, so that she wouldn’t die before first acknowledging the superiority of the tried and true path that had been passed down one generation after another.
The path of the Bible.
She was, at this moment, on the verge of tears. She took another deep drag off her
smoke, then opened the nightstand drawer. Picked up the faded, worn, and tattered
Gideons’ New Testament.
She started to flip through the book and pick a passage at random. But as her thumb
worked its way through the pages, she discovered a gospel tract tucked inside – a hidden leaflet. Under the title ( He Wants Us Broken ), there was a pen-and-ink drawing of a bald man with a sparse beard whose contorted face was the flag of agony. He only had healed
stubs where his arms and legs should’ve been. His eyes looked all fucked up – like a
goat’s. He drooled and bawled, and even the sputum and tears looked – in their own way
– malformed; oozing down his face in weird globs rather than straight trails.
The drawing was repellent, but the title...there was something about the title that rang true. She flipped over the cover and read the text on the first page.
GOD WANTS US BROKEN!
He wants us broken and freakish. And insane.
this late stage. If that didn’t provide evidence of her carelessness, her disregard for them, then what would? She was a bad daughter, and now it was too late for her to transform
into a good one. She’d made too many decisions that ran counter to the way she was
raised to be a good daughter. Besides, her parents had grown too senile to participate in any sort of game-changing heart-to-heart.
She hadn’t been close to them since middle school. Conversations between her and
her parents were superficially pleasant, when she visited twice a year and phoned twice a month. They were old now and had moved to Florida, so they could be closer to Destin.
They’d been much older-than-usual when they’d had her. They’d struggled a long time
with infertility, and called Ellie their “blessing”. She was their only child.
They were closer, in age, to grandparents than parents. This made them more
conservative than most parents. They’d wanted her to marry a godly man, bear godly
children, dote on godly grandchildren, then fall into a godly grave.
And why not? Maybe they weren’t being closed-minded or repressive. Maybe they
were simply relying on a way of life that had proven its worth over the course of
centuries. Maybe traditions weren’t such bad things. Maybe self-denial wasn’t such a bad thing. For example, if she’d practiced self-denial and not looked for online sex chat
sessions with other women, she would have never had the experience with the fake
teenager.
By seeking to engage in acts of abomination, she’d put herself in a position to be
hurt. Perhaps, if there was a God, the incident with the transvestite was His way of
punishing her for violating nature’s order.
God was perfect, therefore His universe was perfect. Nothing happened by mistake.
Even the fact that she was suicidal was part of the divine plan. But what purpose could
her misery (and possible self-destruction) serve?
Her hands shook as she lit another cigarette. Maybe God wanted her to die so that
her sin could not contaminate any other woman. That could be it. Yes, that made sense.
Suicide as a sort of self-imposed quarantine.
But the emotional pain en route to suicide: what was the purpose of that ? Why could she not simply kill herself joyfully and be done with it? Why did she suffer a constant, ugly gray ache in her head?
All pain had a purpose. When she was a child, she’d had an intense pain in her
stomach. And the purpose of that pain was to send the message that her appendix was
about to burst. The doctors took it out, just in the nick of time. Pain had done its job. It had sounded the red alert.
Maybe the emotional pain was there to bring her – literally – to her knees. To knock
her down a few pegs, so that she wouldn’t die before first acknowledging the superiority of the tried and true path that had been passed down one generation after another.
The path of the Bible.
She was, at this moment, on the verge of tears. She took another deep drag off her
smoke, then opened the nightstand drawer. Picked up the faded, worn, and tattered
Gideons’ New Testament.
She started to flip through the book and pick a passage at random. But as her thumb
worked its way through the pages, she discovered a gospel tract tucked inside – a hidden leaflet. Under the title ( He Wants Us Broken ), there was a pen-and-ink drawing of a bald man with a sparse beard whose contorted face was the flag of agony. He only had healed
stubs where his arms and legs should’ve been. His eyes looked all fucked up – like a
goat’s. He drooled and bawled, and even the sputum and tears looked – in their own way
– malformed; oozing down his face in weird globs rather than straight trails.
The drawing was repellent, but the title...there was something about the title that rang true. She flipped over the cover and read the text on the first page.
GOD WANTS US BROKEN!
He wants us broken and freakish. And insane.
Similar Books
