I set the stage to my perfect standards and then returned to my prey in the church closet. The poor little soccer mom wasn’t so demure as she pretended in church; instead of her soft voice, she was yelling foul words at me…it was laughable! I told her to calm down and forced her to drink the entire chalice of communion wine. She became limp and I drug her through the church up to the stage where she was directing that damn nativity play. I felt a little throw-up in my mouth as I thought of all the Jesus songs and fucking parking mess that the whole thing had created. The madness had to stop. I hoisted her up on a ladder, balancing her until she was positioned properly on the cross. I took a chisel and banged led files through her limbs to keep her where I wanted her. She looked at the blood and vomited; luckily, I side-stepped it and told her that wasn’t very Christ-like of her. I laughed and pushed a crown of thorns that I’d had made especially for her. “Realism is the key,” I said, “to any production.” She continued to swear, but her words turned into mumbles as I slit her clothes open and drained her blood. “You look more like a whore,” I said and decided to write “Mary” in her own blood in front of her. I paid extra attention to making sure her breasts and pubic area were exposed; then, as a last gesture, I shoved a dildo in the shape of a cross up her ass. With her remaining blood, I spread it over the plastic little animals that were huddled around the manger. Pleased with my work, I sliced her neck, her head falling so violently that it almost fell off. I admired the scene and felt confident that the brats who came in for practice would be singing a different tune than the one that had echoed down my street.
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