by Christopher Mitchell
It is finished.
The form lay under the sheet and I was responsible. Resurrecting life already gone. And it had all been done it all under the watching eyes. That was what was so delicious. All the activity took place with the blacked out vans and cameras posted, keeping vigilance over the captive flock.
My sympathy for the cause came after seeing the torture chambers and crematory. I knew where most of the disappeared had ended up. Of course, the money helped as well. It began with an escape plot. But It had become so much more. It was a risky, cutting edge project unlike any the world had seen. But nothing ever was gained without pushing taboos. This storage shed worked well. It blended in with the woods and was never noticed from the road. The authorities were going to be given their due.
The smell of chemicals hung heavy in the air. With a rumble the glowing hand rises from the lava. The cobalt shirt radiates across the room and his flashing beard sparkles. The ashes fall from him in his magnificence. Lion roars issue from his throat. It is time for the final test. Pressing the start button, I step back slightly. The head rises towards the blood moon as the words scream out:
“Billy Mays here for the Purgatory Cafe!”