Aborted King: Protophorous

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Chapter 5

Chapter XIX.

My new guards and I sat in a group. We were at the deepest point inside Neverborn Nursery.I asked, “Captain Thomas, how is it with the parents who murdered you in your womb chamber?” “My Lord, King Protophorous, My third Mother’s Day Card so unnerved her that she delivered herself to us here in Torments of the underworld thirty days later. For three years I have been tormenting her. Actually, I mostly protect her from other tormentors, because, bad as she may be, she is my originator.” said Thomas, who continued,“I was unsure which was my father, if we can be said to have one. My murdering mother gave up his name under torment. We commune now by Father’s Day Card and by drunken sailor song. He was a sailor in port for the weekend. Left mom high, dry and knocked up. Not so uncommon a story. She tried to lay the blame on another sailor, a tall young submariner she latched onto. But the Navy required a paternity test. He was ready to marry her, but she rejected him when she heard of the paternity test. He flunked the paternity test. He is, I reckon, equally guilty of my murder though. In a society given over to abortion, any unmarried sex carries with it the guilt of murder. The real culprit is a petty officer in the Persian Gulf who trashes all her letters unopened. He has to read the fathers day cards I send him. When he drinks himself drunk daily my telepath demon messenger leaps right in his brain and keeps repeating the card until he memorizes it and sets it to music. Want to hear one of the songs, your majesty?” “Wish I could give you some music, Captain” I said. Thomas continued, singing,“From hells left bowel. you call to me. son I never knew. but I want nothing, to do, with you. I left you to the butcher doctor. We sent you to burn in Hell. From hell’s left bowel, you call me now. But you won’t get me soon. Not unless these mooslim devils get me first. Then we’ll burn together. You say you’ll torment me. I say I’ll torment you. And tell your lil demon buddy. To get out my head. He’s telling me to murder my mates, my friends, my self. Go away my son in hell. Demon buddy, get out my head. Barkeep get me another drink. Then we‘ll all howl from Hell‘s left bowel.” “What song did your mother sing?” I asked, to which Thomas replied in lilting tenor.“Oh little one you burdened me, yet not so much as now. What once was small inside of me, is all that I can ever see. I cannot love, though ne’er I could, I hear you every Mother’s day. I can’t drive the messenger away. He’s in my heart, repeating to me. The sex I had, was not for lust, but to entangle, and hang onto, such a man as I did fancy, to make me seem special and pretty. The sex I had, twas not so sweet to me, as this dread messenger is bad, whom you, unloved, have sent to me. The card you wrote, from hell’s left bowel, did you screech it, did you howl, were you quite methodical, or were you maniacal. Your messenger repeats it every way, like a mood changing actor. I’ll see you soon, for can it be, that hell, has worse, in store, for me.”“I call it ‘The Song of the Slut.’ your majesty.” He continued. Then Thomas interjected “Why is it we love these monsters, your majesty? Is it that they originate us, that they compel us to in some way be bad, as they themselves are bad, nay murderous?” I was surprised to here Thomas say. Perhaps my 50 guards are the only ones in all the underworld who can truly love, for this is the place of hatred. I responded, “With me it is different, esteemed captain, She resisted my murder at the last in the clinic, but they sedated her and went ahead. Therefore, she was deemed a candidate for the gift of faith from the adversary. She received sequestration and enfolding many years ago. She is even distinguished in the adversary’s ranks. The Father found a way to faith without the gift of faith. So he is an anomaly in the adversary’s ranks. He is effective for the adversary. As you may ascertain, I am unique among our brothers in more ways than one.” I confided in them all my deepest shame. The captain confessed, “It is good to see eyes, your majesty, and to see the light of life in them.” “Here here!” and “Aye aye, sir!” went up from all the guards. Also by the light of life from my eyes I am unique. “Now men and brethren fellows of mine, though I by chance am first unborn among you all and bear the Royal investiture, if my guilty father can achieve sequestration and enfolding by a volitional act, then shall not any alive, even us perchance, turn round our fate by that same means.” I gambled. “But what of our condemnation? We all spent time in never born nursery, growing to the full stature of one worthy of torment. Fully once condemned and educated into it, My Lord the King.” Said a guard. I responded, “Even murder, full and foul, the queen of all sins, Cain’s addition to our darkened race, does not seem to stop the adversary from accepting one who finds his own way to faith. Though, granted, the adversary gives not faith as a fair gift to murderers of micro children. Still, it works. I know a case. My own blood, my earthly father in fact, is so sequestered and enfolded by the enemy.” A new voice split the putrid sulphur smoke rancidity of torments of the underworld, our home. A rider spoke. He was so poorly stitched together that he looked scarred from many battles. (The womb chamber burglar, m.d. to you, is harsh in his murder. Ironically, for this murder many mothers paid dearly, dragging their sons to piano lessons so they would be deft at surgery. By the time these surgeons get down here and begin putting their destructive handiwork back together, then the vestigial rigor mortis and all from the physical body whose rotting and decaying they still feel and resemble makes their piano tutelage of little use at all.) “I am ‘Stitch’ your majesty,” said he, “How long might we live with the adversary’s son living in us and the light of the world shining round about us in this dark underworld Torments.”I replied, “I should think, Sir Stitch, that if one trusted in the adversaries son, and, all his sin were washed away, which is a big question mark in itself, considering we were once damned, then I think such a one, one who makes it into the sequestration and enfolding of our adversary, he should ride for the overland through whatsoever nearest open shaft presents itself.”“What are the ethics your majesty?” inquired another guard, adding, “I am Mario having descended in a straight line from Mary, the mother of the adversary’s son Yeshua ha meshiach, Jesus the Messiah.”

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