The Compendium of Degenerates – part 5

compendiumSo this was his life’s meaning.
Felix the butcher, furious, blusters toward a burst blood vessel, no children left behind for him to care for, and be a martyr, with all the other villagers seeing and commenting on—
Nothing to detain him in the village—
And he decided the wayward couple were to be pursued to the death, and that he is an avenging angel. In a pew, asking what would be best, and the altar candle light swims in front of him, and he decides that he has received a sign…
He takes his best cleaver, the one he never normally uses, but the day has arrived, and whets it carefully on the grindstone, the scrape of grindstone he is already hearing in his head, most of the time, and draws the shutters across his shop.
One in the wheat fields, seeing him, calls over:
—Felix, you are walking out of the village, where are you going?
Felix nods the cheapest acknowledgment, and is not deflected. The hobnails touch the track. He knows his legs will feel heaviest at this early point, will lighten with freedom.
Every church, as he passes, seems to blaze its candles in recognition. His righteousness, his walk to rectitude — the grass that had seemed greener, now proved — in his holy war, the climax of light.

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