Bartholomew (Part 5)

The walls are frescoes of blood---

reflections of the shattered glass below.

Rays of some blinding light can’t contain and the world fades as I fall; tongue impaled on teeth impaled on chin impaled on sink with the fast coming floor no less forgiving. PAIN PAIN PAIN PAIN I choke and I gag and I fight to get up because I’m sputtering and its killing me so I grasp for a hold, grasp, but nothing’s there but I still can’t see and my eyes feel like they’re a trillion leagues beneath water imploding and I’m drowning.
Done falling.
Still falling.
And then I’ve grabbed onto something and I’m pulling myself up above my death. My eyes clear in a dizzying body-numbing fog like an eternal stretch and I cough, cough, cough out blood.
Indescript.
Barely recognizable.
Limp.
Lifeless.


The Lights of Heaven flicker. The Flames of Hell sputter. Neither takes me. And so I continue, for suicide is a crime equal in divine law to murder, and if my concealed sainthood has ruined my profile, at least I may rest in eternal peace regardless. In Hell, there is company.
I lie on the floor looking up. Slowly, slowly, dying. I reach into my pocket for the knife. This misery shall end here. My throat constricts and I give a shallow attempt to clear it, but there is no spit to budge the block in my esophagus. I am an empty shell. A skin with no body. My right hand gropes weakly around in my right pocket. Finding nothing but a coating of gory mucus, I bring it over to my left, for my left arm has stopped responding. Inside my left pocket, I find two items, the knife, and beneath, the match.
Leave it to God.
I brandish the match.
A section of my upper right cheek, the only skin not saturated in bodily filth, serves as a striker. The flame licks the side of my face. It feels smooth like water, light as fresh air, hot as the soul of man. It is good. I clutch the brass doorknob and crawl out of the bathroom and the open door releases torrents of me into the hall. A bloody scar trails my movements, around the corner, and into God’s will.
I take my time struggling to Hell.
For the light of God does not waver.