He looked around the trail, trees stretching into darkness on all sides.
He was bored of it all, hiking endlessly, going nowhere,
people vacant like he was on another planet,
ruled by things that were alive but did nothing worth looking at.
At least the sacrifice was over,
she’s been left for dead, covered in goats’ blood,
pentagram carved with precision into her chest.
A thousand years ago, he would have needed a ******
but nowadays they’re as rare as blue moons,
so what did it matter if she was one further away from virginity?

Blame it on the devil’s lies
Blame it on the word of God
Tell me what the difference is, babe
I’ll crucify myself in your stead.

He heard rushing feet, snapping branches, panicked breath.
Out of the trees fifty yards in front of him
she came bounding out into the middle of the path,
covered in something else’s blood.
Their eyes met.
He stood still.
She stood still.
He began to slowly walk towards her
but she was frozen in place,
a monument to slavery.
He stopped when his toes touched hers,
their noses almost touching at the tips.

Blame it on the devil’s lies
Blame it on the word of God
Tell me what the difference is, babe
I’ll crucify myself in your stead

Oregon had always been quiet this time of year,
midwinter with the chilly mountain air
breathing down towards the sea,
the frost dragon waking from her summer hibernation.
He had always heard voices commanding him to do evil,
stretching back thousands of years,
every wicked sin granting him another decade of life.
He has accumulated quite a few decades,
he’s a slave to his job but he’s very good at it.
In a diner a week later, the local news came on;
three hikers find the mutilated body of a woman,
ankles bound by rope, hanging upside down from a tree limb,
wrists bound my rope to two tree trunks either side of the trail,
inverted crucifixion.
The man who hears voices laughs at a joke no one else heard.

Blame it on the devil’s lies
Blame it on the word of God
Tell me what the difference is, babe
I’ll crucify myself in your stead