Sunday, November 25, 2012

Thousand: Nine Hundred Forty-Three

set them on fire. If you don’t, he’ll think you don’t like him. Jesus is sitting by a campfire, recovering from his latest resurrection. He’s been burnt to death several times. The first time he returned to life he would cringe whenever he approached a fire, but then he drowned. After that fire wasn’t a bother. He fingers his neck, which was broken by one of the guards of the ancient city. It’s okay now, he supposes, and turns his head carefully from side to side to make sure. Smooth, not even a crackle. Sometimes he wonders what it’s all

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