Join My Cult - Original Falcon Press

“What do you want?”
“Whatever pleases you. I will be whatever you want me to be. I will
degrade myself to pleasure you.”
Still looking into the mirror, I had a hard time remembering what it
was I saw in those eyes. They were empty, and I existed only to be filled.
The sweet, grinding noise closed in once more, and I knew something
had ended.
Samantha and Alexi were sitting in the low grass at the top of her
field. The two of them sat, looking at each other and at the colors shooting
across the horizon, as the mastiffs ran wild around the field. The sun
was just beginning to dip lazily beneath the tree line, bruising them a
deep purple, silhouetted starkly against the vivid sky which was itself
slowly giving way to black. There was an energy in the chill air, pained
but enjoying the almost brutal beauty of it all. It was a defiant sort of
power.
“We look ourselves in the mirror each day, and throughout that day,
all we see is reflections of our selves, never past them. Never through
that mirror image. And when we get involved with people, how much of
them are we really seeing—how much of it is really just projection? Is
our contact real, or are we bound to lose our self in the process of
identifying with our horribly tenuous perception of self? …I mean, I feel
all this love for you. It’s overwhelming. But is it really you that I love? I
can’t tell what is genuine anymore.”
“Don’t worry,” Samantha said, not making eye contact, “there are
some things that can’t change. Think about what it feels like in my arms.
You make everything so hard for yourself.”
Alexi smiled bitterly; Samantha was fidgeting absently with her
sleeve, staring ahead blankly. His act had a strong hint of the contrived,
and yet there was sincerity in his eyes. He believed it, at any rate. “The
way of the world is change,” he said, “it is the only absolute we can expect
to experience. Change thinly veiling nothing, like crepe paper.” He
paused for a long moment, and then turned to look at her deliberately, his
voice lower and quieter now, grating hard at times and yet at others, full
of softness. “I spent… I know not how long walking about as if I were in
a fog. Let’s just say that I was not yet born, and the very innards of my
subconscious were still being carved away by days of unrecalled experience.
And then, almost as an accident it seems, I saw you and exploded
out of those subterranean passages, running headlong into sunlight. I was
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