“Hey, Father.â€?

“Yes, my son?â€? the old man said as he turned his head. He recognized the shine on our pupils, the sheen of the hunter seeking prey. There was understanding in him, a recognition of the tools we held in our hands and their intended purposes… and the ways we would be defiling them.

He was easy game and the realization sank into his mind at the same moment the baseball bat did. The priest raised his hand to the heavens, his eyes following the straight line of his arm. He was searching, hoping to view a costumed crusader torn from some children’s story into reality. There are no fairy tales; it is the day after – Cinderella rose to find Prince Charming anally raping Sleeping Beauty. We’re the only saviors.

His out-stretched arm bent, elbow first. With a final thrust to his spine he fell over, unable to move.

“Listen up. You traded in pink triangles for white collars. We see the mark, we act on its meaning. Learn the fucking lesson.â€?