After the recent victor was done with me, I rose nude
from the bed and walked to the window. He had quickly
drifted off to sleep, so I had the freedom to move as
I wished. My eyes widened; there was a star, it's
shine nearly engulfing the night. It shimmered and
flashed, bright lines of light streaking across the
sky. The air felt pregnant with fate. In the morning
they would say that it was gas in the atmosphere or a
UFO, but I know what it is spiritually,
metaphorically, allegorically. It was a star.
I hadn't seen one since the world was still young.
Then I was a whore in the desert lands, when brother
and I were still lost and grasping for influence in a
world we did not recognize. I looked behind me, in my
mind's eye seeing a gladiator instead of a duelist,
straw instead of sheets and springs, dirt instead of
carpet. I had already been so many things to so many
people before He came along. I was Astarte, who
granted her lusty favors to the faithful, and my
brother the lightning lord of power that His people
vilified. My lips, my lashes, my dark curves would
eventually inspire the image of Babylon's great whore.
It was only fitting. I was the oldest practitioner of
the world's oldest profession. John said that on their
day of reckoning, the Whore of Babylon will fall.but
he was wrong. I have already fallen.
To His friends, His people, His world, I was a dirty
prostitute not fit to be seen. I didn't know until
later how they would portray me, but I probably
wouldn't have cared had I known. What were the chances
that the writings of a few desert barbarians would
thrive in the present day? But He saw me as none of
I anointed Him, and He cast demons from me. He said
that none of it was my fault-that demons had thrown me
into disrepute. How could I look in those dark,
innocent eyes and say that it was not so? Could I
smile, pat him on the head like a child, and say that
He could never cure one such as me? But even in his
naiveté, I followed him. He spoke to me as an equal
always, though the others hated to see him do so. He
proudly shouted from hilltops impossible dreams.
Though I never believed him, it was nice to pretend
for a little while. It was nice to think that I was
equal and deserving, and that all that the world used
to be could be regained.
What a waste. Just as he had become favored in my
brother's eyes-for His purity, for not giving into his
temptation-He was murdered. "It's a shame," my brother
said in his purple robes and laurel leaves, "that he
never got farther than this." He then walked on,
leaving me to stare at the broken man nailed to a
piece of wood. His screams from the nails in his flesh
still rang in my ears. Though I knew perfectly well
what they were, I also knew what the pieces of metal
were spiritually, metaphorically, allegorically. They
When my brother said he was dead, I believed him. I
had no reason not too. Everyone thought the same.
Imagine my shock when I saw him rise from his tomb,
smiling. I never saw him again. I used to worry that
it was because I never really believed him, but the
confusion and guilt melts with the years.
Anthy knew what the star meant. "What shall I call you, once
you come?" she asked. She had called Him Lord when He arrived.
"What shall I call you in this language then. Sama?" She was
then silent, simply staring up at the star beckoning to her.
She could only hope that the next one fared better.