I have no ideas for Halloween stuff so just take this drawing of Midori as a sex worker I did last year. it is inexplicably still the best thing I’ve ever drawn. I am both proud of and deeply ashamed of it.
I am inexplicably sad, and incredibly happy at the same time. I have officially finished my first fic, and I don’t know, I’m feeling pretty proud of myself?
It’s been a long journey, and it turned out a lot longer than I expected it to, so I’m happy. It’s probably not the best thing that I’ll have ever written. But, it’s out there, and people have read it. I’m just a big sap.
I ask God if it was hard, having a savior and a sacrilege for sons. She shrugs.
“They both became what they wanted to be, and neither wrote home enough. So it is with all children.”
Surely, I insist, there must have been hard feelings. I am starving to unravel the the secrets of this inexplicable family, as though dreging up tales of black sheep and unspotted lambs might help me situate myself in this drama I have always been cast in.
“At a certain point,” God sighs, “there isn’t ‘proud of’ or ‘angry at’. There is only a love you can’t suppress for a thing you can’t control. No child gets more of that than another.”
“Not even devils make a difference?” I ask.
God sees quite clearly that we’re not really talking about the Devil, that we never really have been. She reaches out to touch my face, and her calloused hands are warm with the fires of creation.