Page 71 - WTP VOl. X #3

Another reason to be angry.
The Jesus statue’s rocking became more pronounced.
“By the way, was that you? Denied by every single school. Tell me that wasn’t you, cause it sure felt... coordinated.” He’d tried to let this go for years, but some deep part wouldn’t, couldn’t. The injustice was too palpable.
“Nah. I mean look at you. Can’t even fix my chest or ankle. People always wonder why God lets shit hap- pen. Maybe it’s ‘cause you aren’t in control? Got no power?”
The Jesus statue jumped to its feet and issued a plaintive stream of Spanish accompanied by dra- matic gesticulations. Its voice had lost some of that power it originally had. Now it sounded more hu- man, average in its anguish.
“I don’t understand. I don’t understand,” Jerome groused.
The Jesus statue spoke right over him. It paced back and forth, making unknown point after unknown point. Jerome lay there, propped up against the slope and let it have its moment. Probably embarrassed. No miracles and all that. What good are you?
It either came to a conclusion or had exhausted its argument and stood with slumped shoulders, look- ing down at Jerome, breathing heavily. There was no certainty, no sense of authority. It seemed defeated. Jerome knew that feeling as well.
“Hope you feel better now that you got that off your chest and all. I’m still in a fucked up situation...”
And then it started to cry. The Jesus statue put its
hands to its face and turned away as racking sobs escaped from its wooden frame.
“Oh come on,” Jerome exclaimed, surprised and also a little unnerved. “Can you just...pull yourself together? Or go the fuck away?” That only seemed to cause
it to cry harder, its verbal anguish intermixed with the complaints of its timber frame. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. S-O-R-R-Y! I didn’t mean to upset you, I’m just... STUCK IN A FUCKING DITCH, HURT AND CHRIST IS HAVING A MELT DOWN!” He grimaced as the vice tightened. It was an almost claustrophobic sensation.
The crying lowered to wet sniffles. It turned halfway back towards him, one pained eye staring out through a space between its fingers. I gotta help it? I’m dying in this fucking ditch and Jesus wants me
to save him? Its eye narrowed as if it had heard his thoughts and slowly, it turned away again. The Jesus statue dropped its hands, arms to the side, and with a head hung low, started to slouch back towards the tall grass.
“Wait! You can’t just leave me here like this! Hey! HEY!”
The Jesus statue gave no indication it heard.
“I’m sorry, okay? POR FAVOR! I need your help! You can still try and heal me if that’s what you’re into! Or...I’ll pray with you! Yeah, let’s pray! How about that? Then you can carry me up to the road! POR FAVOR! PLEASE!!” The panicked acknowledgment that he was certain to die if left alone overrode all his physical agony. “Seriously! I’m begging! I’m sorry! I’LL CONFESS MY SINS!”
The Jesus statue stopped, frozen for a long moment before turning back around. Its long hair fell in front of its downcast face, the curled strands echoing like wind chimes in a gentle breeze as it shuffled towards him. Jerome’s ability to sit up drained away and he fell backwards onto the slope as the cacophony of pain broke throughout his body. The Jesus statue sat down next to him but facing in the opposite direction, crossing its legs with a loud crack.
“I’ve never confessed before,” Jerome admitted. “I don’t really know what I’m supposed to say or how to....” This is stupid. What the fuck am I doing? But he didn’t want to be alone, even if this was just a halluci- nation.
“I’m supposed to talk about how shitty I am, right?
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