Part 5 - A Short Tale
Setting: Backwoods, PA
Sanctimonius pushed himself away from the keyboard. He stood and stretched.
"Take that, you bunch of pinko girly-boys," he grumbled, well-satisfied with his work this evening. "You have a new hole ripped now."
Sanctimonius had decided it was time to rid the churches of those bitchy, divorced women and pansy men, once and for all. He snorted in derision at the round table discussion he had seen on PSS earlier that evening.
"God is no mulatto hodgepodge, simpering across a stage," he had typed into his latest essay.
A bit of unease flickered in the back of the Sanctimonius brain -- what if it were true? Could God love these misbegotten creatures? Could they really have God's grace?
His own mother had betrayed him, he thought bitterly, always fussing over his sister and his effeminate brother, when it was Sanctimonius who needed her attention. Sanctimonius remembered Mommy fussing over little Larry when the little creep came home crying because the bigger kids had beaten him up. What did Larry expect, lisping around in his little shorts set that Mommy had bought him? Even a 4 year-old should know better.
Sanctimonius felt his rage boil over as he remembered how Mommy had held little Larry in her lap, murmuring words of consolation to him and rocking him. It was so unfair. Sniveling little shit.
When Sanctimonius voiced his disgust, Mommy just looked at him with her soft, sad eyes and said, "Well, dear, you and Larry are just flip sides of the same coin."
That was such a lie. Sanctimonius (well, okay, Sherman was his real name) had gone ballistic when she said that. Sanctimonius remembered vividly all the subsequent visits to the child psychiatrist. Another light-in-the-loafers type, always asking the Sherman-child how he felt about things.
Walking through the bedroom to the bathroom, Sanctimonius stopped short. He took a few steps backward to take a second look at what he had seen in passing. It was a strange creature. It looked a little like Sanctimonius, but wearing bright-red lipstick, eye shadow and mascara, a pointy bra, garter and stockings.
He heard a strange, womanish squealing sound. He realized it was coming from his own throat. Frantically, Sanctimonius grabbed a washcloth and tried to remove the makeup from his face. It looked as garish as before.
Sanctimonius threw open the closet, breathing heavily. Instead of the neatly-hung suits and shirts that he expected to see, his closet was filled with pink, frilly, fou-fou dressing gowns and more bras and garters suspended from pink, padded hangers. Little pink slippers with feathery things on them had replaced all his shoes.
Sanctimonius ran to his dresser and started yanking out the drawers. All of them were filled with yet more of the offensive lingerie.
Another high-pitched squeal erupted from Sanctimonius. In a panic, Sanctimonius ran to the back door and pulled it open. Realizing his nearly-nude state, Sanctimonius ran to the coat closet. More of the same girly-clothes. He caroomed into the spare bedroom. More of the same. Sanctimonius finally pulled one of the pink dressing-gown creations from its place and pulled it on. Pink feathers tickled his nose and made him sneeze.
"No, no, no, no, no," Sanctimonius moaned.
He hesitated at the kitchen door for a moment, then ran down the back steps and along the driveway of the country home. Trees loomed over him threateningly. Sanctimonius realized he was running like a girl, heels kicking up in the air behind him, and he shrieked like a girl. He started sobbing.
Sanctimonius ran down the highway, knees and heels and elbows flying up into the air, pink silk and boa feathers floating about him. He began to shriek, and he tried to run faster, as if to escape from...something, but he could only run like a girl, like one of the girls who always flunked P.E.
Sobbing, Sanctimonius lurched down Highway 22 toward Bethlehem.