[private] if you pray to God for rain don't you complain about the lightning; pentecost

[Pentecost]

Do you want to know why I use a knife?
Guns are too quick. You can't savor all the...
little emotions. In... You see, in their
last moments, people show you who they
really are. So, in a way, I know your friends
better than you ever did.

He is (without a doubt) Pentecost’s golden ticket. The thoughts of Carnage are as secret as the true intention of his mother’s captivity. It wasn’t for her own safety. It wasn’t for her protection. Her didn’t give her everything she needed. But that will all likely die with the graphite stallion. Our silverly-plum boy continues to slowly approach, his frail muscle tone and awkward posture as evident as the blatant indignation radiating from Carnage’s frame. Though, we already know Pentecost hasn’t learned these very important, social cues. They didn’t come across in mommy-and-me-training. He says my name, and I cannot help but notice as he cradles it in his mouth with what I can only describe as soberness. I listen, attentive and ready. What he conveys next will be the beginning of what I can only imagine to be complete and utter bliss My first reprimand, and a flush of embarrassment glows heat, burning what butterflies still daintily flew in the pit of my stomach. Radiating their burning ashes up into my neck and cheeks leaving only the dryness of soot aching in my throat. I am without a doubt, the biggest idiot to grace his presence. (Your mother always bowed. She was such a good devotee.) “I—” Though words do not follow, they get lost in the suffocation of carbon dioxide. A moment of silence ensues before I muster up confidence to murmur, “mother is a good devotee.” No excuse could save me from the humiliation and disrespect I have shown here, and now. ((Not even the fact mother had taught me everything we know?) I bow, a delayed offering and perhaps fruitless but what else am I to do?

PENTECOST

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW WHO WERE COWARDS?