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a flicker of culture

“so what do I care? you all are pigs,” decried the priest.

flies gathered around his mouth as he ate the horse’s feces.

the crowd was shocked speechless, and the children had their eyes and ears covered by their parents’ hands.

small noises filtered through the gathering of people.

the sounds of fear and disgust mixed with incendiary comments thrown at the man.

the priest did not care what they thought, but instead, squatted behind the horse to eat its’ feces sloppily.

the women, with their sensitive morals, began vomiting as the man ate slowly and quite rauscously.

the boys didn’t see what the problem was, and began laughing and giggling in the audience.

the priest laughed as well as he felt the children’s entertainment.

it was then that he would make various rude animal noises with the horse looking at him crazily.

the girls in the crowd were just as disgusted as their mothers, and began dry heaving.

the men in the crowd gave way to sighing in disgust with groans and grimaces galore.

however, the priest just kept laughing and smearing himself with dung.

the air hung heavy with the smell of repugnance, and the people began to boo the priest in his duties.

he merely laughed as the feces squished between his toes, and he squeezed it from his fist into his mouth.

the children screamed and roared with disgust, with girls gagging, and the boys were crying out with hate.

the animals gathered about their pens, and their individual protests began to grow louder and louder.

the priest could only be defined as such by the collar which clung loosely to his throat, shit-stained and stinky.

his fiery manner expressed only a true delight in rolling about in filth, and he cried out in joy as such.

he began to tear off his various sacrimental garments, and started to scream obsenities at the crowd.

that, in fact, made the crowd yell out infantile gibberish, and that made the priest scream out louder.

filling the skies with his reversed tongues and babble, but also shaking his body violently in shudders.

the crowd turned from vocal torrents to gasps and groans, but the priest stayed on his path of blasphemy.

finally, down to pants and shoes, the priest began to throw up his arms in gyrations, and shaking continuously.

there was no sense of sanity that day, and the people in the vicinity became struck with a peculiar malady.

after vomiting, the people started to shake and shiver madly, and running hot and cold, dripping with sweat profusely.

so many were taken with these potent symptoms, that whole areas were quarrantined away, and army were used.

the priest was never heard from again, and some feel a presence when near those haunted fairgrounds.

the repercussions, however, will be felt for many generations to come, and possibly beyond the blood’s extinction.

such is life, but what is life, except a culture of flickering images as they rustle through the dirt for a home.

the priest may be gone, but nothing ever truly dies so easily or so fully.