Does this even count as fic, or just publicity for the Just Say No campaign?

monologue for a lunatic
gen. heroes; pg-13.
& all the usual spoilers.


Call me Gabriel, call me God. I AM GOD, YOU KNOW. In every head I split is a pebble-continent buffeted by dark waters, ocean congealing salty as the landscape lies like a sleeping child or a thief. (The inhabitants live underground, you know, they tunneled because of the surface radiation.) Am I not god, to move these nests from their perch?

YES YES YES. 3 saints were thrown into the burning furnace and they all screamed for me.

Allusion, illusion. The play of words like children in a sandbox as grains are thrown into the air like diamonds, imploded stars, the glint in your mother's eye that was you. A woman is symmetrical, two faces and two bobbing teats; a man has two heads, but only one face - complex mathematics, these. My mother taught me them on Sundays.

My world is simpler: every watch must have a face, every face must have two hands. I have two hands, you know. I had two faces but now I'm all alone. Am I not god, to rearrange and listen to the meaty slaps that pass as clockwork?

Call me Gabriel. I will come to you in a dark night splashed over the desert like india ink or cool dark antifreeze, blood-blooms on the guts of your car like the burned ghosts of roses. Mother had a vegetable garden, she grew me and two seed-packets of parsley in a windowbox. She was very careful, my mother, she raked me precisely and where I overspilled my borders she tucked me back. See, my hands still smell of herbs. Maybe I have never been the tightest screw in the woodwork but now I have been twisted so ineptly that I have lost the thread. I have lost the thread completely. Is it there, unraveling from your sleeve?

I think it is.

I want it.